


Reprise

by Elfpen



Series: Reprise [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Angst, Fix-It, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-13
Updated: 2016-04-29
Packaged: 2018-05-01 09:59:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 22
Words: 94,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5201648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elfpen/pseuds/Elfpen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ben Kenobi dies aboard the Death Star in the year 0 BBY. He wakes up shortly thereafter in the Jedi temple in the year 41 BBY. Haunted by memories and regret, Ben must forge a new path for himself in the Jedi Order of his youth while navigating the murky waters of time travel. Crafting a better future from bitter experience is hard, but learning to heal is even harder. Major AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I always told myself that I would never write a Star Wars time travel fic. So naturally, that's exactly what I'm doing.

There is no death, there is the Force.

Long ago, there had been a cache of academics at the temple that had believed that this doctrinal platitude was not merely one line of the Jedi Code, but was, in essence, the Code itself. Over the course of his life, Obi-Wan had heard a litany of arguments both for and against the idea, pandering nuance like law in essays that no one read. As erudite a student as he had been, he'd never taken a side. Whether the saying was one part of the code or was the code itself had always seemed like a semantic nothing to him. It was truth, one of the pillars of solid truth that a Jedi could dig his fingers into when he started to fall; it, like the whole code, was a tether to the life-giving Force, and that was what mattered. It was supposed to matter.

Ben's fingernails felt fit to break. They would leave bloody tracks in their wake, smearing down that once-great pillar as he plummeted down. They'd be dirty like him, and bloody, bright, bleeding red like the sacrilegious fire that burned in Vader's hands.  _Hruuuum,_ it moved in a stiff mockery of  _Djem-So,_ a show whose sloppiness was only outdone by Ben's own antiquated  _Soresu._ It was embarrassing how hard it was to keep up, to hold a defense with joints that screamed in their age.  _Master Yoda had never had this problem,_ Ben grit his teeth.  _It is you who is weak, Kenobi_. Even the Force seemed to wheeze it's way through this twisted kata, a death rattle forming in its unfeeling lungs. Breathing heavily from the fight, Ben wondered if he was ever supposed to have lived this long. Maybe the Force did make mistakes, sometimes.

Ben felt Luke arrive before he saw him, and his heart clenched. He looked over at the boy, at his upturned face of fear, and knew that he'd reached the end of his path.

Faced with the end, Obi-Wan's soul diverged from itself, twin halves making turns in either direction just a moment ahead in time.  _There is no death, there is the Force,_ the first half recited, encouraging him to accept his last stand with dignity and composure.  _But this is wrong,_ said the other, haunted eyes flicking between Luke and Vader, back at Obi-Wan as he raised his sapphire blade in arthritic hands.  _This has always been so wrong._ And even the first half of him flinched at that. Perhaps it was. But what could he do?

_So much,_ the thought was an absinthian aftertaste.  _I could have done so much more._

_There is no death, there is the Force,_ the first half reminded him. But it'd taken one step back toward its twin. They were both stepping toward each other, now, migrating into a center path that tumbled off the edge of existence. It was time.

Obi-Wan looked back at Luke, perplexed by the lack of peace he found in himself, alarmed by the turmoil. Surely this was not how a Jedi was meant to approach his death. Surely this was not how  _he_ was supposed to face his death. He, Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi: Jedi Councilor, High General, grand Negotiator, Harbinger of New Hope, He who had lost everything, he who had given up his life and more for… for what, again? He supposed he'd lost that, too. He'd called it 'a new hope', years ago… Luke. Luke would outlive him. Luke would carry on the work of the Light.

And  _yet._

And yet something in him  _ached,_ something rebelled with a mutinous shout that  _this was not how things were supposed to be_. Maybe it'd been shouting for years, maybe it was only now that he could hear it clearly enough, now that he was staring death in its rasping, globe-eyed face.

_There is no death, there is the Force._ His fingernails cracked against the pillar, the tether to his life-force.  _But I could've done so much._

_There is no death, there is the Force,_ chanted the first slice of his soul, hand white-knuckled around that of its twin, who lamented with bleeding fingernails:  _But I could do so much!_

Darth Vader shuffled toward him like a macabre puppet dangling on live wires, red plasma hot and waiting to strike.

The salute Obi-Wan chose to be his last was a youngling's pose. A simple  _Shii-Cho_ stance, one of the very first he'd ever been taught in the diminutive Dragon Clan, so many, many years ago. It was a stance of defiant humility, but also of final submission. Here at the end, he was still but a learner: a small vessel, helpless, who could not comprehend how to release his redolence of fear.

_Oh Force help me,_ He closed his eyes, twin shards of soul stepping forward into the red saber's path, soul's hands clenched in mingled peace and confusion.  _Force, catch me,_ he begged, because he was freefalling, and his hands were bloody. He fell, leaving no body and no stains on the pillar of truth.

There was death, and there also was the Force.

 


	2. The Disturbance

The Jedi Temple, much like the city planet it called home, was deceptive in its appearance. Coruscant was a radiant hub of power on the surface, bustling and endless. But beneath the shining veneer of durasteel, technology, and endless lights, there were thousands upon thousands of layers of civilization, places which saw little sunlight and remembered times long forgotten by those above. The Coruscanti underworld was a thing of legend, and of nightmares. Few ventured there, and even fewer returned. The surface dwellers had places to go, business to attend to, lives to run. None spared a thought for the millennia rotting beneath their feet. There would always be places of Coruscant that only a few people knew about or remembered. There would always be vast swaths of existence worn into secrecy by the slow and merciless vote of time.

The Jedi Temple was a parallel to its host planet in this respect. Only, without so much death and nightmares. Perhaps the comparison was a poor one, thought Tala Vleka as she pushed her custodian's cart along the vast, abandoned hall, levitating a small globe lamp to light the way. It was true that the Temple had hundreds of forgotten levels such as this one, most of which now lay in disrepair below the surface, but they were not hostile as the wilds of Coruscant's underbelly. No, the Jedi Temple, even in its darkest, neglected depths, was a harbor of safety and tranquility.

It was beautiful down here, in its own way. Dark, yes, and cold in places. Devoid of life and furniture alike. But the Force was thick here, so thick she could taste it. Its flavor was rich and delicately seasoned, generations of Jedi wisdom pressing up against her like a smoldering hearthfire, the embers of light that kept the surface dwellers alive far above. It was a shame that they only used these levels for utilities, now. Electric generators, antigrav backup systems, repulsor regulators, and maintenance units were just some of the commodities that found a home here down below. Ever since she'd aged out of the initiate program at age thirteen, it had been Tala's duty to care for them. It was a lonely, tedious job. But with the Force so strong here, she savored the atmosphere like fine wine.

In such a vast and ancient underworld, Tala's exiled clan of technology lived in disparate pockets, webbed together by halls of old statues and monuments, sacred rooms of meditation and forgotten rituals. Tala had even seen books down here, on occasion – actual paper  _books._ They were remnants of the archives' oldest collections, which Jocasta Nu allowed to remain down here in their ancestral homes, and no wonder. There was no one to disturb their fragility here in the dark. No one but the generators and regulators - and Tala, of course.

However, by the will of the Force, Tala Vleka's solitude was not to last. At thirteen hundred hours on the second day of the tenth month of the Galactic Republic Year 25,012, the Force slammed through the foundations of the Temple and sent Tala to her knees.

She would learn later of the mass chaos that erupted above as thousands of Jedi sensed the upheaval. Crèches cried en masse, students froze in their katas, even the High Council faltered in their daily sessions. But after a few breathless heartbeats, the fissure in the Force closed up as quickly as it arrived, leaving Jedi everywhere to clutch at their focus and wonder,  _what in the galaxy was that?_

Deep in the bowels of the temple, Tala could sense an aftershock. Something…  _someone._ She was no longer alone down here.

A chill ran down her spine, night blue hairs standing on end. Abandoning her cart, she reached out a hand and drew her lantern closer to herself. Her other hand closed about the lightsaber she carried on her belt – it was a simple training saber leftover from her initiate days, and would be useless in a fight, but the humming crystal inside calmed her. Luminescent red eyes wide, she stepped off her familiar route and into a path of the Force's choosing.

She could almost see the lifeform in the Force, a dot on the horizon shining like a beacon in the desert. She followed its call into ancient halls, around corners and into rooms she'd never seen. She heard a noise, a moan. A person. Gulping down fear and quickening her step, Tala came into a massive hall, her lantern's light swallowed by dark space. A second moan echoed against the darkened walls.

"H-hello?" She croaked, unused to speaking while on duty down here. "Is anyone there? Are you alright?"

She stepped forward carefully, glancing at the smooth stone walls, the engravings in the floor. She wondered what old rituals this hall had witnessed, how long it'd been forgotten. The air thrummed with power - not ancient and still like the embers of old, but new, and alive, and  _crackling_. She continued forward and down a short stairwell into the depressed center of the room. A massive crack ran through the meter-thick floor, granite rubble tossed up in jagged peaks. There was a humanoid lying half-buried beneath one slab, scorched Jedi robes in tatters about its body. It moaned.

"Oh my stars," Tala almost dropped her lantern. She rushed over to it – him, she quickly realized – and drew on her initiate training to move the debris away from the ailing Jedi.

"Master? Master, are you alright?" She reached out a hand to check for a pulse and recoiled at the touch. Power surged through him unchecked like lightning, fear and confusion and something else. "…Master?" She asked again, voice cracking with uncertainty as she fumbled for her comlink, trying to remember the frequency for the healers' ward.

One eye cracked open. Two. Blue-green eyes, squinting through grey dust and lantern light. Both eyes fixated on this light, blinking lazily into it before considering Tala's sea blue face. He seemed confused. "There is no death," the stranger wheezed, blinking again, "There is only the Force."

"Master?"

He collapsed.

* * *

Vokara Che was having a rather hectic day.

The Halls of Healing had already been a veritable battleground for weeks now, and it in the Chief Healer's esteemed opinion, the last thing they needed was a force-damned ' _situation'._ But Fate was a merciless sort, and did not consider the longsuffering countenance of Jedi healers when it crafted Today's trials. While junior healers ducked in and out of well-worn trenches fighting off the rash of bantha flu that had been introduced into the crèche some months ago by nefarious sojourners unknown, Chief Healer Vokara Che had bigger problems to deal with.

Ever since that moment in early afternoon when the universe had toppled onto its head for ten horrifying seconds, every Jedi in the temple had fallen off-kilter, including Vokara Che. Stepping into her office to pick up the datapad her Padawan had left for her, she took three deliberate calming breaths.  _There is no chaos, there is harmony. There is no chaos, there is harmony. There is no chaos, there is the Force._ It helped a little. Setting her jaw in a determined line, the twi'lek Jedi marched toward the emergency ward where a mystery man lay unconscious in a white shift. The custodian who'd found him stood by the door where Padawan Luna Sholl was calmly asking questions and taking notes.

"Alright," Vokara bolstered into the room, lekku swinging with as much authority as the rest of her, "a usual suspect?" She asked.

"I haven't run his fingerprints yet, master," Luna said.

"Hmm," Vokara made a note to review standard operating procedure with her padawan later. "Well, he doesn't  _look_ like any of my wanted posters. Human, male, mid-thirties, I'd guess. All limbs intact. Let's see." She picked up a limp hand, the one that wasn't wrapped in wires, and pressed the thumb to her datapad. It beeped its dutiful tone and reported.

Master Che frowned deeply. She glanced at her patient, and back at the 'pad. "Hmm," she grunted, and tried scanning a different finger. The identification programming thought for a few seconds, and reiterated its original findings. Now growing equal parts annoyed and confused, Vokara placed the man's entire hand on the scanner.

"Master?" her nautolan apprentice regarded her apprehensively. The intensity of Vokara's frown leaked off her face and into the Force itself.

Master Che said nothing. She flicked her gaze between the patient and the scanner, the scanner and patient. She set the datapad aside and examined the man's face, pushing back bedraggled hair, shining a pen light into his eyes, smoothing out a ginger beard to see his chin. Eventually, she stood back, expression a storm.

"Have our ID systems been swept for bugs in the past month?" Vokara asked her padawan as she tore open a sterilized DNA kit.

"I believe so, master," replied her padawan, tapping on her own datapad to access the office records. "They're automated; they've never missed a scan before."

Master Che's frown did not disappear as she took a tissue sample from the patient's cheek and plugged it into its corresponding machine. "Have MD-8 run a blood panel, and call me when that is done processing," She instructed her pupil, already hallway out the door. She could hear the sounds of sickness and misery echoing from the pediatric ward. She sighed.

"But master, who is he?" Her apprenticed asked, attempting to fill in her meticulous notes on the day's proceedings.

"Hopefully, we can find out."

It was less than an hour later when her apprentice commed her. The datapad remained where Vokara had left it at the foot of the patient's bed, blinking a ' _Scan Complete'_ message and chirping. She snatched it up and tapped through the results, expression unreadable. Luna, watching with owlish eyes from the doorway, blinked.

"…Master?" She ventured when Vokara stood staring at the screen for an unusual stretch of time. The twi'lek master was watching her mystery patient cautiously.

"Luna, MD-8 reports this man is dehydrated. Get an IV."

"Yes, master," the apprentice darted away, eager to be useful. Vokara used the privacy to pick up her comm. She stared at the face of the mystery patient while the other end of the line buzzed a dial tone. Eventually,

" _Jinn."_

"Master Jinn. You are on planet at the moment, are you not?"

A pause.  _"Indeed I am, Maseter Che."_ A sigh. " _... I assume this call has to do with my annual vaccinations,"_ he said resignedly.

Vokara's eyebrows lifted in stern amusement. "Ah, thank you for reminding me about that. But for the moment, I shall forget your vulnerable immune system and instead inquire after your shadow. I can only hope he is on planet with you."

" _Yes, of course."_

"And do you know where he is, at present?"

A brief pause.  _"He's with me, in our quarters. Is something wrong, Master Che?"_

She pursed her lips, unsure of how to articulate the problem. "I suppose there must be. Your apprentice is with you in your quarters, in what I can only assume is a healthy countenance, and yet I currently have an unconscious man in my care some twenty years his senior whose DNA has  _somehow_ turned up the medical records of one Obi-Wan Kenobi."

An even longer pause. Luna slipped into the room quietly with the IV bag.

" _I'm not sure I understand,"_ Qui-Gon said at length.  _"There must be some mistake."_

Vokara studied the unconscious face with a rising sense of foreboding. "I hope so, Master Jinn, but I must say…" cleft chin, ginger hair, freckle on the left cheekbone, mole on the brow… He'd arrived right after the massive disturbance that afternoon. "I sense something far more… elusive. I have a very bad feeling about it." And that, coming from one proponent of the Living Force to another, was a heavy declaration indeed. The comm. line was silent. Luna was struggling with the IV needle. "I need to go," Vokara bid, "Contact Master Windu and Master Yoda and meet me in the Halls."

" _Of course. Right away."_

She replaced the comm on her belt and went to help her apprentice. "Humans can be tricky," she advised, showing the young girl how to locate the right vein, "But this one has helpfully pale skin. You should be able to see the color… ah, there we are," she guided Luna's hands with years of practice.

At the prick of the needle, the man jerked upright, screaming. Luna screamed, too, covering her head as the lights above exploded and medical supplies flew from their shelves in a burst of Force-fueled shock. Vokara shouted for backup as the security lights came on. She seized the left arm in a blue fist and yelled at the man to look at her.

"Hey,  _hey,_ you're alright, calm down, I don't want to hurt you," she rattled off, a well-rehearsed speech to the hysterical. A junior healer appeared, taking his other arm and readjusting the wired sensors strapped to his fingers. "You're safe, you're safe. Can you hear me?" She wasn't sure he did. He'd frozen in place as soon as he'd glanced at her, his face now a picture of confusion and… and  _sadness?_ The tears in his eyes were wetter than those of fear.

"Master Che?" His voice cracked, confused.

It wasn't at all what she had expected. "Yes," Vokara fumbled, and recovered. "Yes, Vokara Che, I'm a healer, you're in the Halls of Healing, at the Jedi Temple, do you know where that is?"

"You're… you're  _dead,"_ He said.

Vokara's brows rose. "I assure you I am  _not,"_ she told him sternly. "I'm quite rooted in the business of keeping death at arm's length, in fact. You need to calm down… What's your name?"

The man was undergoing a different revelation. "I'm dead," he decided. Vokara tightened her hand about his wrist in a grounding squeeze.

"You're  _not_ dead. Now what is your name? I need to access your records to help you _not_ be dead."

He looked at her as if this question baffled him. "You don't…" He paused, and looked up at her with a veiled expression of hurt. "I'm… It's me, Master Che, Kenobi. Obi-Wan Kenobi. Surely you must… remember me? Surely… I… but…no…" He winced and then groaned, leaning his head into his hands, shaking it back and forth. "No… no, no, no…" He moaned, and began gently rocking himself. "This isn't real. This can't be real. A vision. Mirage. There is no death, there is the Force. There is  _no death, there is the Force."_

Vokara stared at him, nonplussed. "You are Obi-Wan Kenobi," she parroted. He was clearly under great mental stress. Perhaps playing into his delusion would lead her to the truth.

"I was," the man cried, voice muffled against his hands, "and I'm dead. And  _you're_ dead. And I'm… I'm…" He dug his head deeper toward his knees and despaired, to some unseen third party, "What the hell is  _this?"_

"Sedate him," Vokara whispered to Luna. Despite her trembling, the padawan obeyed, slamming a hypo against the miserable man's neck before he could see her coming.

"Master Che, Master Yoda is waiting for you," A junior healer peaked his head around the corner. Vokara nodded her acknowledgement and watched until her new ward slumped over before she stormed out of the room.

When she arrived in the atrium, Masters Yoda, Windu, and Jinn were waiting, along with Padawan Obi-Wan Kenobi. She drew a deep centering breath.

"Well," She huffed, settling her datapad in her arms. "You've just missed all the fun."


	3. Investigation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, two updates in one day. Please don't get used to this.

With four masters and a padawan pressed in around a cluttered desk and stacks of flimsy and datapads, there was very little legroom in the Chief Healer's small office and, at that moment, even less conversation.

"But, obviously he's delusional," the Padawan cracked first. Most Jedi his age would've been too intimidated by the revered company to speak up at all, let alone first, but the circumstances demanded his attentions in particular.

"I am not saying he isn't, Padawan Kenobi," Vokara Che said pointedly. "But he remains firmly convicted in his delusions. And I'm afraid to say that his assumption of your identity is the lesser of two. He's also completely convinced that he's dead."

Qui-Gon couldn't help it when his eyebrows twitched toward his hairline.

"He said this himself?" Mace Windu asked from Qui-Gon's left.

"Yes, after he told me that I was dead," Vokara deadpanned, leaning forward in her chair to lean elbows on a clear spot of desk. "He seemed more alarmed at being  _here_ than he was about being dead." The only other chair in the room was occupied by Master Yoda, who's creviced face tightened in thought. "Hmm," this quiet syllable was enough to bring four pairs of eyes waiting on the aged master's opinion. "Awake, he is?"

"Not at present. He woke up when my apprentice attempted to administer an IV line," Vokara said with a tone of protective bitterness. "He blew six fuses, made a mess of his room, broke a life support unit – not in use, thank the Force – and shattered a dozen lights."

Master Yoda hummed again, a more serious note. "Force sensitive, he is."

"Very," was Che's chagrinned reply.

"And you say he was found after the…  _disturbance_ this afternoon?" Mace rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

"Right after. A temple corps. member, Tala Vleka, sensed his presence while on duty in the lower levels. She found him ailing under slabs of the demolished floor. The engineers tell us the building is stable, but apparently his  _arrival_  caused quite a bit of damage."

"Which floor?" Master Windu wanted to know.

"B-459," Vokara said. Obi-Wan's eyes widened quietly, and he shot a look to his Master. He had no idea the temple  _had_ so many levels. Qui-Gon hid his own surprise and stifled his pupil's curiosity with a glance. Occupied with this exchange, neither of them noticed the tense look shared by the Master of the Order and the Grandmaster.

"A vast level, it is. Know the location of his discovery, do you?" Yoda asked in a low, gravelly tone.

Master Che set a datapad in the center of her desk and pulled up a holomap so that all could see. She magnified the display of the lower temple, scanning the floor in question while consulting her notes. "Here," She pointed to a spot in the very center of the level.

Yoda and Windu both went stiff, and a bolt of alarm shot through Obi-Wan nerves. Both councilors' shields made them inscrutable, but their reactions spoke for them. Master Che did her best to ignore it as she added, "This sector hasn't been on the power grid for centuries, so it was too dark for Vleka to describe the state of the room. The droids can only tell us that no significant structural damage was done."

"Investigate, we will," Yoda decided. "First, see the patient myself, I will."

"Of course, master," Vokara flicked off the map. She caught Qui-Gon's eye and flicked her gaze meaningfully at Obi-Wan. The master tipped his chin up in understanding.

"My apprentice will go to the lower levels to investigate," He said. Mace cocked an eyebrow at the unapproved decision and Obi-Wan looked surprised.

"Master?" he murmured in an aside. Qui-Gon shook his head. Not now.

"I will accompany Padawan Kenobi," Mace decided, and shared a brief look with the boy. "Where is Miss Vleka now?" He asked Vokara.

"I haven't seen her for over an hour. She was speaking with a transcription droid just outside the Halls."

"Questioned she has been, working she will be. Consult her transcriptions later, we will." Yoda slid from his chair and leaned on his gimmer stick, claws arched in calculated thought. "Go now you must, before cold the trail becomes."

"As you say, Master," Mace bowed and Obi-Wan followed suit with a deeper learner's bow. The Korun master led the way out, with Obi-Wan casting a last glance at his master before following two paces behind. Qui-Gon closed the door.

"Troubled, your thoughts are, Master Vokara," Yoda turned to the healer once the three were alone.

"Yes," She said, a deep frown now giving voice to the depth of her concern. "This…  _man._ He…" She looked between the two masters uncertainly. "It is impossible, what he suggests. And yet…" her reason struggled to articulate what her feelings suggested.

Yoda hummed and tapped his cane on the ground, drawing Vokara out of her thoughts. "Bring us to him, you will," the diminutive master said, striding toward the door. "See this Disturbance myself, I will."

With this pronouncement, the small council adjourned. The Chief Healer escorted the two masters past a darkened room where custodial droids swept up shattered glass to a more sequestered quarter. Inside the only occupied room within sight lie the Disturbance himself, pale skin mottled pink in the clinical lighting.

Qui-Gon paused at the door, a jarring sensation settling in his gut. He recovered and stepped forward, training his expression into a neutral stare. The man was… not what he was expecting. _Elusive_ , Vokara had called it. Elusive was not the first word that occurred to him. Uncanny, perhaps. Unsettling. He stepped toward the bed and looked at the man's face, neck growing involuntarily tense.  _Familiar._

While Vokara found a chair for Yoda to stand on, Qui-Gon's eyes roved in disturbed silence. Ginger hair, overgrown and untidy. A thick beard, obscuring a downturned mouth and soft jawline. The thickness of his hair and the tone of his skin suggested relative youth, but the deep lines under his eyes and on his brow bespoke either age or intense hardship. It was the birthmark by his left eye that sent a chill down Qui-Gon's spine.

This was not baseless delusion. This was deliberate, calculated, and convincing. And it was a falsehood – it had to be.

"Disturbing indeed, this is," Yoda hummed, gimlet eyes flashing over the man's body and the soft restraints that bound his wrists and ankles to the bedframe. "Match young Kenobi, his DNA does," it was a statement.

Vokara couldn't bring herself to actually  _confirm_  such illogic, so she sighed and said, "My equipment has never malfunctioned so grievously or persistently, Master."

"Fail, your machines do not," Yoda told her, gazing into the imposter's face. "Fail the Force does not. Misunderstand, we must not." He waved Qui-Gon over and the tall man helped the Grand Master down from the chair. "Meditate on this, I will, hmm, yes." He looked up at his young companions. "Disturbed the Force is. To say why, how… I cannot. Proceed carefully we must."

"But Master Yoda," Qui-Gon had his hands clasped in a polite stance, but his expression was twisted in a stern foil to Yoda's air of destinism. "Surely there is a ready explanation. The Halls themselves possess means to transform a person's likeness to appear as those of another. This is surely a variant on such technology."

"Explain the Disturbance in the Force, technology does not," Yoda said, clacking his gimmer stick on the ground. "Explain his DNA it does not. Explain his arrival, explain the damage done to this Temple, it does  _not._ " The small master entoned with nine centuries of authority, "Blindly rebel against the Force, your senses do, as often as rebel against me  _you_ do, Padawan Jinn."

There was no possible response to that, so Qui-Gon looked away with a suitably contrite expression. Distantly, he was grateful that Obi-Wan was not here to see such a display.

Yoda sighed and glanced at Vokara, whose face was impassive. "Heed the Force's prompting, we must. Meditate I will. Go to the archives you will, Qui-Gon, consult the Order's wisdom on  _technologies_." He glanced at the slumbering patient before moving toward the door. "Inform me when he wakes. Speak with him, I must."

"Yes, Master." Vokara gave a curt bow.

As Qui-Gon walked out with Master Yoda, their tense exchange of moments before melted into the Force. "Right, I hope you are," Yoda confided quietly. Qui-Gon looked down in surprise. Yoda glanced up to meet his gaze. "If more than technology and delusion, this man is… clouded, our path will be."

* * *

Obi-Wan had never been in a turbolift for so long in his life. Granted, it had not been a single lift. It was actually a series of three turbolifts, each one subsequently older and slower than the one preceding, that provided access to the Temple's buried expanses. Until about thirty standard minutes ago, Obi-Wan hadn't been aware the Temple  _had_ four hundred and fifty-nine (or more?) basement levels. Now, seeing the trouble one had to go to in order to reach them, he understood why he'd never heard tell of their destination. Still… the mystery of it, its connection with the recent disturbance, it made the thought irresistible: what in the bleeding nine hells was  _down here?_

"This floor was retrofitted to house mechanical utilities over a century ago," Mace Windu explained, breaking the tense silence that had fallen between them. Obi-Wan glanced up and blushed when he realized he hadn't been shielding well. If Master Windu found the slip amusing, he didn't let it show. "The rooms on this floor are very tall and very wide – perfect for housing repulsor units, regulators, the like."

Obi-Wan nodded, absorbing. His brow wrinkled pensively. "And… what were the rooms originally built for, Master?"

Mace side-eyed him. It was no wonder Qui-Gon liked the boy; he sniffed out controversy without even knowing what he was looking for. "Ceremonial halls," he answered carefully. "Spaces reserved for old rites which have since fallen into disuse."

"Like what, Master?"

"Perhaps you can consult Master Nu on the matter," he suggested to escape the inquest. Unfortunately, knowing Kenobi, he actually  _would_ consult Master Nu. Let Qui-Gon deal with that mess. "This is our floor," the Korun announced.

The only visible lights on the level were a line of aging halo lamps that ran down a vast hall stretching out into darkness. Master Windu opened his holodisk to display their destination on the map. "This way," He instructed, veering off the lit path. He flicked on a small glowstick and levitated it a meter or two ahead. Obi-Wan did the same.

After a stretch of quiet procession, Obi-Wan commented, "The Force feels…  _strong_ here." It felt like a ridiculous thing to say, because of course the Force was strong in the Jedi Temple. It always had been. But this was different.

"This place is old – very old," Mace told the padawan. "The Force is… condensed here. Laminated like layers of paint. It is not stronger, but denser, closer."

Obi-Wan nodded slowly at the analogy, making sense of things. "It's easier to reach here," he concluded.

"Perhaps. Turn here."

Obi-Wan followed the councilor's lead, letting his attention wander slightly to scan his surroundings. The halls here were made entirely stone – real, quarried  _stone,_ not synthetics or duracrete, and the porous rock seemed to soak up the Force with as much thirst as he did. He took a deep breath, reveling in the soul-quenching taste of it. He could get used to this place. In the back of his mind, he wondered if he would be allowed to come back at a later date. In the more impish garden of thought that Qui-Gon had been nurturing behind the Council's back, Obi-Wan decided he didn't strictly need permission. Mace Windu's open display of a turbolift access code had been a kind of tacit permission, anyway. He filed the sequence away for future reference.

"Here we are. Bring that light over here," Master Windu instructed, leveraging the Force to open a massive door – an actual swinging, hinged door, with a handle and everything.

Inside, it was dark. Their small glow sticks cast glowing circles on the floor, but the walls were too far away to see. Floating as if in a tank of liquid darkness, the green-white lamps hovered across the room, down a short flight of stairs. Obi-Wan thought he could see the beginning of a jagged fault line in the floor.

Master Windu took something from his belt and threw it into the air above the lights. A massive blue energy ball formed in the air, suspending a bright light in the vaulted ceiling.

Obi-Wan couldn't help it when he gasped. He wasn't sure where to look first. Now illuminated, the hall was striking for its scale alone. The ceiling was vaulted an easy forty meters in the air, arches coalescing in geometric patterns far above. The walls were each twice as long as they were high and formed a perfect square. In each of the four corners stood statues of venerated Jedi figures, hands outstretched as if upholding the sky. The perimeter of the room was lined with alabaster pillars, all carved with ancient patterns that Obi-Wan had seen in history textbooks before. The granite floor had symmetric mosaic patterns inlaid into its surface, growing in intensity and complexity toward the center of the room, down a short set of steps into a sunken octagon of white granite. There, the glowsticks shone on the epicenter, where:

"Sweet Force," escaped his mouth.

Mace said nothing, but was inclined to agree. Mosaic tiles lay like scales around the upturned slabs, which were easily a meter thick. The Jedi stepped toward the carnage carefully, bootheels echoing loudly in the quiet. Obi-Wan lagged behind to toss his head back and ogle his immense surroundings. This place was important, he felt. Sacred, even. Why had he never heard of it?

"Do you feel that?" Master Windu was asking. Obi-Wan wrestled his focus back into the present and considered the question.

"I'm not sure…" He frowned for a moment, but actually… "Yes." It was subtle, like waves left on the surface of a pond by a fallen leaf. Or branch. Or boulder. "The Force  _is_ stronger here," he said. Not merely denser like layered paint – actually stronger, like static ozone tossed up by lightning. He let down his shields to communicate this image to Master Windu.

"Indeed," the Korun agreed, studying the invisible Force signature with a sharp eye. He laid a palm against a jutting wall of stone, feeling the residual energy coursing through. When he withdrew his hand he realized that the stone was covered in a thin layer of soot. He glanced around and saw that scorch marks pockmarked most of the exposed rubble, as if energy itself had been the shrapnel of this event. Lightning indeed. He hummed in deliberation before turning his attentions to the focal point of the caldera.

"Thank the Force it didn't break any deeper," the master said, peering down into the hole left at the very center of the room. Worn durasteel crossbeams lay like exposed but unbroken bone beneath the floor's gaping wounds. They'd have to fill the crater to avoid further deterioration. He moved his glowstick to inspect the damage. When he did, a glimmer of reflected light caught his eye. "What's this?" He asked, drawing the attention of Obi-Wan, who had been inspecting the energy field surrounding a large chunk of floor with intense concentration. Mace brushed a rock away with his boot and stooped to pick up the metallic object that had caught the light.

"What is it?" Obi-Wan asked, stepping away from his boulder.

In response, Mace pressed the ignition switch. A sapphire lightsaber blade appeared between them with a triumphant screech. He gave it a few experimental swings before retracting the blade.

"It must belong to…" Obi-Wan gulped. "To that man," He said.

"It's a wonder it works at all," Mace said, inspecting the weapon with grimace in place. "It's filthy." He looked at the make of it; simple, straight. Smooth casing, rugged black handgrip, ridged pommel, mid-set activation lever. He looked up and peered at Obi-Wan's belt.

"So… does this mean he's a Jedi?" Obi-Wan asked hesitantly.

Mace favored him a skeptical look. "It means he  _thinks_ he's a Jedi, and has gone above and beyond to prove himself." He frowned at the 'saber, rubbing a spot of grease between thumb and forefinger. "He certainly doesn't have a Jedi's sense of maintenance."

Obi-Wan wasn't entirely convinced. A real  _lightsaber_. So the man was force sensitive; you didn't just  _make_ a lightsaber. He had to be at somehow associated with the Jedi. Right?

"And not just any Jedi, of course," Mace weighed the 'saber in his hands. "This one claims to be  _you_. He's got the color right, at least." He reached out expectantly, and Obi-Wan handed him his lightsaber. "Hmm," the Korun Jedi held the two hilts parallel. There were certain similarities… shape, simplicity. Still. "Didn't get much  _else_ right," He returned Obi-Wan's lightsaber. After a brief moment of thought, he extended the stranger's lightsaber as well. "What do you think, Kenobi?"

Obi-Wan reached out and took the proffered weapon. As soon as he did, he yelled and dropped it as if burned, recoiling his hand to his chest.

"Obi-Wan?" Mace had instinctively reached for his own saber when Obi-Wan's panic shot through the Force. Now, he hesitated.

Obi-Wan wasn't listening. He was staring at the 'saber with wide eyes, mind reeling. After a heart-pounding moment, before Master Windu could step forward, Obi-Wan shot out a hand and summoned the saber to his grasp. Eyes unfocused and staring wide-eyed at nothing, he held the 'saber in a white-knuckled grip, awash in the tumultuous Force.

"…Kenobi?" Mace was saying when Obi-Wan blinked out of the trance. He was unaware, but it was the fifth time the Master had called his name. He let out a shaky breath and turned his face to look up at the older man, who looked genuinely relieved to see his young companion responsive. He now fixed the apprentice with a firm look. "What happened?" he asked.

Obi-Wan opened and closed his mouth a few times, at a loss for words. "I…" he wasn't sure  _he_ believed what the Force was suggesting to him, and knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that no one else would. What could he possibly say? "I… I think I might know who he is," Obi-Wan phrased it as mildly as possible, meeting Mace's gaze and gulping at the surprise he saw there. It could not have outmeasured his own.

" _Might_ know?" Mace asked dubiously. Obi-Wan opened and closed his mouth again. After a bit, he trained his expression in that diplomatic way he'd mastered long before Qui-Gon had been around to accuse him of deception.

"...Yes, Master."

Well, it was hardly a  _lie._


	4. Interrogation

"It doesn't make any sense, but there's no possible explanation." Vokara growled, throwing the datapad onto her desk. "For all intents and purposes, he  _is_ Obi-Wan Kenobi. You can't just alter someone's entire DNA sequence." Qui-Gon Jinn slouched in the chair opposite, looking at his stack of archive holobooks with a deep sense of betrayal.

"Is it possible they're related by blood?"

"Unlikely. Even if a full half – and that in itself would be a miracle – even if  _half_ of his DNA were identical to Obi-Wan's, reconstituting that much of a sentient's DNA is an inadvisable undertaking. Unheard of. He would be brain dead by now." Vokara shrugged. "If this man is  _not_ Obi-Wan Kenobi, then I don't know who the hell he is."

"But he's  _not_ ," Qui-Gon said. That he had to keep repeating this certitude was something akin to madness. "Ignoring the fact that my apprentice is currently alive and well and not under delusions of being dead, this man is at least twenty years older than Obi-Wan. He couldn't fool anyone for more than a glance."

"I don't think he was  _trying_ to fool anyone," Master Che snapped, wishing she did not have to consider the tide of ridiculous theories flooding over her logic. Unfortunately, there was no longer any high ground to which to turn. "But unless the man is a clone under aging modifications or a Force-damned  _time traveller,_ I don't know what else to tell you, Master Jinn."

They both stayed silent for a moment and sighed in mutual frustration. At length, Qui-Gon ran a hand over his beard and asked hopefully, "He's a strong Force sensitive. Could he have found a way to manipulate the results that way?"

Vokara snorted. "He wouldn't be able to even think about it, not with the amount of medications I have him under. And yes, before you ask, I re-ran the tests after I put him under. Speaking of which," It was high time to change the subject. She opened her datapad and brought up a series of flat holos. "I finally got a chance to give him a once-over."

"Oh?"

"Yes. Aside from mild dehydration and a few bruises, he is in peak condition."

"And yet he believes he's dead," Qui-Gon said with deadpan incredulity.

Master Che shrugged. "Some might say he should be." She turned her 'pad around for Qui-Gon to scroll through the images. "The man's a walking pinboard of scars. Some of them should've killed him."

Qui-Gon flicked through the series with a tame expression, grimacing once or twice. He paused on one holo and pointed. "Where is this one?" He asked. The scar in question was a long, straight gash. Vokara twisted her head around to look.

"Lower left back, below the seventh rib. Looks like blaster damage." Qui-Gon nodded in disturbed silence. Vokara read the expression with a frown. "Obi-Wan?" She asked. He nodded again. She decided it was best to move on. "That's not all… this one is the newest," She flicked through to the end of the series. The image was a shot of the man's neck, bare chest revealing a precise, angry red welt that ran on a slant from left collarbone to right. Silently, Vokara flicked to the next image, showing how the scar appeared from the back; it circumvented his entire neck in one clean, even line. Qui-Gon leaned forward, frowning. The scar tissue was too thick for it to have been superficial. Had it been some sort of surgery?

"If you had to make a guess," Vokara quizzed, "what weapon would you say made that mark?"

Qui-Gon looked up in surprise. "Weapon?"

She nodded. Qui-Gon looked again at the holo, squinting, trying to imagine how anything could inflict such damage. Vokara eventually took his silence as an invitation to offer her thoughts: "One does not work in the Temple for as long as I have without learning what a lightsaber burn looks like."

"A  _lightsaber_?"

She flicked to a new holo, this time showing the scar from a profile angle. "The tissue is mostly healed, but you can see marbling from the original burns. It's too clean to be blasterfire, and nothing but a lightsaber gets hot enough to leave the surrounding skin untouched." She indicated points above the collarbone and at the nape of the neck. They lined up perfectly. "Through and through. A swift and level  _sai cha_."

Qui-Gon was so sick of hearing explanations that made no sense. He spent several long seconds fighting the urge to roll his eyes before eventually managing an exasperated: "…  _Decapitation?"_

Vokara's nod was pointed. "It might explain a thing or two about his thoughts on  _waking up."_

They shared a long look, both of them wishing they had not been driven to consider this nonsense. But… what else  _was_ there?

"Master Master Master Master-" Luna burst into the office without knocking. Vokara already had a short reprimand on her tongue, but before she could give it voice, the padawan added breathlessly "He's awake,"  _pant, pant._  "and he broke his restraints."

Both Jedi masters were on their feet and headed for the door. "Get Master Yoda," Vokara bid Qui-Gon in her most authoritative tone. The taller man obeyed without question.

"Get me a security droid," Vokara ordered her apprentice. "I'm not letting him wreck two wards in one bleeding day."

* * *

The first time Ben had woken up, it'd been pure panic. An unusually emotional display, form what his hazy memories told him. Still, Jedi stoicism aside, he was of the opinion that panic was the only viable reaction to waking up after dying. He  _had_  died. Well, he was  _supposed_ to have died. But apparently Ben Kenobi was destined to lose his right to a proper death along with everything else. It felt poetic, in a twisted sort of way.

How Vader had managed to keep him alive Ben hadn't the slightest inclination. Perhaps it was the work of the Emperor himself. Obi-Wan had never had the pleasure of meeting Palpatine after his ascent to power, but he knew well enough that Sith Lords delved into arts so dark that the even the wisest, greyest Jedi had no comprehension of their existence. Mental manipulation, he was sure, was well within their purview. His psyche had suffered for months at the hands of Asajj Ventress – and she had been a reject apprentice. He could only imagine what kind of power the Master held.

But if he were dead, or close to it, he had nothing to fear from Palpatine or Vader. He thought of Luke, and something in him ached. He would die, and Luke would carry on. He had to be at peace with that. He could not let Vader succeed at whatever game he'd crafted to torment his old master.

Ben rubbed his wrists, chaffed red from where they'd restrained him to his bed. It was insulting, really. Anyone with a smattering of midichlorians could get themselves out of  _that._ He glanced around the quaint hospital room and had to commend the Sith on their attention to detail – everything, from the scratchy bedsheets to the thin shift robe to the astringent scent of disinfectant and bacta was just as it would've been. Vader must've lent some of his memories to their endeavor to make the experience as realistic as possible. Ben drew in a deep centering breath to keep himself from remembering those distant days.

There was no death, it seemed. He reached out with his senses and was shocked – and relieved – to brush with a sliver of Light. There was, however, still the Force.

All at once, a healer, a healer's apprentice, and a droid burst through the door. Ben gave Vokara Che's likeness a bemused expression. "Hello there," He said, sitting calmly on his bed, brushing the offensive restraints away to dangle neatly off the bedframe.

This reaction seemed to confuse the healer. Good. Twenty years, and Obi-Wan could still keep Vader on his toes. "You're awake," The twi'lek said.

"I suppose so." Awake, dead, who was keeping score? He would play along.

"You gave my apprentice quite a fright," Vokara said, taking a hesitant step forward. Obi-Wan glanced down at the nautolan girl who was making a brave effort to hide her anxiety.

"Ah…" had Vokara ever  _had_ a nautolan apprentice? Obi-Wan had surely met all of her apprentices in the course of his troubled medical history. He frowned. But how had Vader remembered? And why on had he seen fit to implant such fine detail? "I am sorry about that," he offered. Compassion was sure to do him little good here, but he'd spent too much of his life fighting wars to indulge in convenient austerity in death. Beside that, nautolan eyes were incredibly disarming. He gave the apprentice a smile. "My apologies, young one."

Nervously, the apprentice smiled back. The ripple of delight that shone across the Force felt too real, too untouched by the dark. Obi-Wan's focus faltered, a worm of doubt forging into the back of his mind.

"You seem… calm," Vokara came over to him, inspecting the neat way he'd folded the sheets around himself, how he'd thought to re-buckle the restraints and tuck them out of the way. "Last we spoke, you were convinced that you had died."

"Yes, well," Ben said, brushing his shoulder and savoring how  _clean_ hishospital robes were. "After that show on the Death Star you might understand why I thought so," He chuckled. "But I see now that it was something of an illusion." He looked up around at the room, and back at Master Che. "As is this, I suppose."

"I'm sorry?"

"My senses are not so dull. I can only assume that because I am  _not_ dead, I will be very soon, after you attempt to get some information from me. What I know that you could possibly want, I haven't the slightest idea. I'm an old man. Do your worst. I haven't anything to lose anymore." It felt like a lie, but no matter.  _There is no emotion, there is peace._

"Thirty-five standard is hardly  _old_ ," Vokara said, opting to ignore most of what he had said. For a delusional maniac, this man was speaking incredibly clearly with a logical rhetoric. Paradoxically, this alarmed her more than if he'd been rambling nonsense.

"Thirty-five!" he laughed. "You flatter me, Master Che. Yes, I'm thirty-five and Master Yoda is celebrating his 100th lifeday, I'm sure." He chuckled at his own joke. Illusion or not, it'd been a while since he'd shared conversation, let alone inside jokes, with other Jedi.

He was surprised when Vokara produced a mirror and handed it to him. He was even more surprised by what he saw.

Force, he  _was_ thirty-five. Or least he looked it. His mouth fell open and he brought an unbelieving hand up to his hair. He had  _hair._ Ginger, thick hair. And a full beard, too, which he ran his hand over slowly, ogling the glints of red reflected in the looking glass.

Even for Sith, this kind of manipulation was… excessive. "That shouldn't be possible," Obi-Wan whispered to his young reflection.

Vokara was standing close by. "Funny you should say that," She crossed her arms in an authoritative way that stirred old instincts in the fight-or-flight region of Obi-Wan's brain. "You, my young friend, are quite the impossibility."

He glared up at her. Ah, here it was. The interrogation. He braced himself. "What makes you say that, Master Che?" He asked innocently, playing dumb.

"When you arrived here earlier today, I scanned your fingerprints, and they turned up the medical records of Obi-Wan Kenobi."

"Imagine that," Ben said mildly, a pleasant smile on his face as he set the mirror carefully aside. "Your print scanners are functional. I will alert the council."

Vokara was divided between shock and irritation. "But you are  _not_ Obi-Wan Kenobi," she insisted.

"Am I not?" He chuckled. "Well… from certain point of view, I suppose you're right. I haven't gone by that name in… oh, a long time." He nodded, eyes sad. "A very long time."

Vokara hadn't been expecting that. Thankfully, she wouldn't be the one to press the matter. She turned to greet Master Yoda and Master Jinn as they appeared at the door. Ben looked up as well.

The Force turned as frigid as Ben's posture. The cold sent a shockwave across the room, and all three masters faltered for a moment, Qui-Gon taking a full step back. Vokara glanced between the bedridden visitor and Qui-Gon Jinn, who was on the receiving end of a dagger-point glare.

"I see," Ben hissed icily, muscles bunching at his jaw. His gaze flicked over Yoda, but lingered on Qui-Gon, microexpressions alternating between apprehension and anger. He smoothed out his sheets and trained a neutral expression on the wall behind them. "I take it you've come to interrogate me."

Yoda and Qui-Gon shared a look. The smaller master stepped forward. "Interrogate, no. Speak with you we would."

Ben ticked an eyebrow.  _Semantic detail._ Yoda waved over a repulsor table and hopped up to stand at Obi-Wan's eye level.

"Hmm," the wizened master squinted at the man's face, studying. At length, he decided: "Look like Obi-Wan, you do."

Obi-Wan lifted impassive brows. "A compliment which, though accurate, is completely supererogatory."

Yoda chortled in amusement. He shot a glance at Qui-Gon. " _Speak_ like Obi-Wan, you do," he said.

"I would appreciate it if you would get to the point, Master  _Yoda_ ," He spat the name in derision. This seemed to surprise the two Jedi standing near the door. Yoda took it in stride.

"Doubt my motives, you do. Why?"

"Perhaps because you are dead," Ben said in unnerving calm, and then grimaced. "Well… I  _think_  you are dead. I  _know_ they are dead," He nodded his head back toward Qui-Gon and Vokara. "and I know that I'm supposed to be dead, if you hadn't arrived to torment me." He folded his arms very calmly at his waist, squared his shoulders, and drew up the diplomatic amour he'd forged during the Clone Wars. "Now what is it that you want from me?"

"The truth."

Ben met Yoda's gaze. "About what?"

"Your identity."

Ben frowned deeply at that. Of all things that the Sith could possibly want from him… they already  _knew_ who he was. Vader had known since the moment he set foot on the ship. The worm of doubt became a slithering snake, winding about his assumptions and tightening. "My name is Obi-Wan Kenobi," he said. "Though lately, I've been called Ben."

"Jedi, you are?"

Could he have been a Jedi without the Order? All was the same in the Force. "All my life."

"Remember how you came to be here, do you?"

"I was killed," Ben replied easily.

"Hmmm." Yoda stepped forward and picked at Obi-Wan's neckline with the tip of his gimmer stick, exposing the livid ring around his neck. "Handiwork of your murderer, this is," he speculated.

Obi-Wan twisted his neck around to see, and gingerly touched the scar all around. He couldn't stop the jolt of alarm that shot through him when he realized the extent of the damage. They really were putting absolutely absurd detail in this illusion. "I suppose so," He told Master Yoda, voice wavering in mild surprise. "It's in the right place."

Yoda shared a glance with the masters by the door. Qui-Gon stepped forward.

"If Obi-Wan you are – remember this man, surely you do." It sounded almost like a test. But why? There was no point. Ben grit his teeth. To torture him, perhaps.

"Master," he said very quietly, dipping his head toward the taller man.

Qui-Gon did not acknowledge the gesture. Instead, he folded his hands into opposite sleeves and asked, "Do you remember anything at all from earlier? After you died?"

Ben could hardly look at him. Force, it was just like him. From the barely-tamed hair to the baritone voice to the set of his feet that reeked of maverick authority, it was all so completely Qui-Gon Jinn. Even after all these years, even contemplating it set Obi-Wan's heart fit to break. "No," He said, subconsciously folding his arms into sleeves in a mirror of his old master's stance. "I woke up here… in the Halls. I made a bit of a scene, I'm afraid." He nodded apologetically at Master Che.

"You were found this afternoon," the healer told him, stepping further into the circle of conversation. "In one of the furthestmost basement levels of the Temple, half buried beneath a pile of smoking rubble."

Ben was frowning. No, he didn't remember that at all. But why would such fabrication matter to the Sith? What was the point of deceiving him? Was Vader trying disorient him, compromise his emotions and throw him off kilter so that he'd crack?

"Distressed, you are." Master Yoda's senses were as sharp as ever.

"This isn't real," Ben said, looking away suddenly. "This is an illusion. Falsehood. I am dead."

"So ready to be rid of life," Yoda accused. "Or, so ready to be rid of  _us_. What think you that we are?"

"Ghosts. Illusions. Lies of the Sith come to draw out scraps for their masters."

The three Jedi masters stood straight at attention and indignation. "Sith," Yoda's ears turned up, eyes sharp. "Sith, you think us to be? Hmmm…"

_THWACK!_

Obi-Wan's hand shot up reflexively. He gaped in surprise and glared. He hadn't taken a gimmer to the back of the head in  _quite_ a number of years. Yoda's pinched glare of authority was just as patronizing as he remembered it being.

"Foolishness, that is. Use your senses. Trust in the Force.  _Feel_ the Sith, do you?"

Obi-Wan glared harder, adamantine resilience bucking away and presenting him with decades of reasons why obedience meant certain death. He steeled himself and tentatively widened his senses, prepared to come fist-to-fist with the Dark ambush that Vader had no doubt set for him.

Light.

Light, all around him. His ready fists fell through a forgiving veil and he stumbled through to a land he'd been trying to reclaim for decades. His expression slackened. The Force here was strong. Strong and luminescent, and clean, and… the Dark was small, infinitesimal compared to what it had been. And Yoda was…  _Yoda._ And Vokara was here, too. And… Obi-Wan nearly choked on emotion when he reached out toward Qui-Gon and felt the exact, perfect, unforgable, irreplaceable portrait of his master.

"That's not…" he struggled, facing blanching, lungs quivering. Vader, the Emperor, the illusions, the interrogation were all beginning to melting away, leaving him bare in a floating world that made no sense. The snake of doubt grew and pulled up its head, poised to strike. "That's not possible," he said, and then louder, because the blood rushing in his ears muffled the sound of his own voice. "That's not  _possible._  You're dead. You're all of you,  _all of you_  dead," he could feel the other Jedi, the other thousands, tens of thousands of lives above and around and below him, burning with light. But they weren't there. They  _couldn't_ be there.

"Dead, I am not. Dead, you are not. Found you today, we did. Cause  _great_ disturbance in the Force your arrival did. Much confusion, much worry, yes. Upset the sick younglings, you did."

Obi-Wan's internal breakdown put itself on hold so he could frown."…Sick younglings?" What an odd thing to say.

"It's bantha flu season," Vokara offered. "There is a whole ward next door of initiates and padawans puking up their guts as we speak."

 _Bantha flu_? But surely… there had been vaccine developed for that years ago. There hadn't been a significant outbreak of bantha flu at the temple since… and surely Anakin wouldn't remember  _that_.

He couldn't have.

He  _couldn't_ have,  _ever._

The snake of doubt sunk its fangs into Obi-Wan's awareness. He felt the venom rushing up toward his consciousness slowly, like the beginnings of a tidal flood. "This… this is going to sound odd, but…" He rubbed at his eyes. "What, uh, what year is it?"

Frowning slightly at the question, Vokara tilted her head and told him, "Twenty-five aught twelve."

Ben's hand froze on his eyes, and then he opened them to show his horror. His mind reeled through the calculations. "But… that's…" His chest heaved, and he wondered how all the air had managed to leave the room at once. "That's not… that's – that was forty-one… forty-t _wo_ years ago," he realized. He looked up to the others, begging for confirmation. He found none. "That's not  _possible_." He glanced again at Qui-Gon and realized that the man's hair was not quite as grey as he remembered it being, the wrinkles in his face not quite so deep. His breathing quickened again. The Light cradled him with merciless silence, and he struggled to see anything in his mind's eye but Vader. Vader, and the Death Star, and Luke, melting away in a tide of venom. The long-awaited freedom from their gaze did not feel like victory.

The next time Ben bothered to look around, Vokara was by his side and telling him to breathe. He tried to obey, recalling the calming breaths Qui-Gon had taught him years and years ago. Qui-Gon who was standing in the room with him. They weren't dead. Were they? Surely death would be less confusing than this. Oh, Force, he was so  _tired._

"Breathe, come on now, slow breaths, just so," the healer told him, firm hand on his bent back. As Ben struggled out of his panic, Vokara glanced back and met Qui-Gon's eyes.

" _Unless he's a Force-damned time traveller, I don't know what else to tell you,"_ the memory passed between them. Qui-Gon frowned and looked at Ben's distraught face. He shook his head in disbelief. Vokara thinned her lips and shrugged.

"More visitors, we have," Yoda observed, ever calm. "Master Windu, Padawan Kenobi, come in, come in. Discussing the calendar, we were."

At the sound of his name, Ben looked up. His eyes moved over Mace in dull recognition and onto the shorter figure by his side, to the face of… himself. Obi-Wan Kenobi. Sixteen standard. White robes. Padawan cut.  _In front of him._ Inexplicably, Ben's hyperventilation disappeared, and he was left to openly stare. Obi-Wan stared right back.

Mace had been intending to report their findings to Master Yoda straightaway, but as soon as Ben and Obi-Wan's eyes met, a percussion of energy shot out across the Force and distracted him to the point of silence. It took him a minute to realize that all the others had fallen silent, too. They all stared.

"Hmm," Yoda broke the long and awkward silence. "Have something for our new friend, Padawan?" He asked, voice bubbling with absurd amusement. It took a moment for Obi-Wan to realize the question was directed at him. He glanced up at the wizened green master and nodded hesitantly.

Qui-Gon was watching with a troubled expression. The change in his apprentice's demeanor since that afternoon was palpable; unnatural. He glanced at Ben, whose mien had undergone a similarly drastic transformation in the past few minutes. Obi-Wan took a step forward. "Padawan," Qui-Gon protested quietly, hand twitching against the urge to physically hold the apprentice back.

For perhaps the first time in his apprenticeship, Obi-Wan not only ignored Qui-Gon completely, but could not have paid attention if he'd tried. "I found this," the boy was saying, unclipping something from his belt. It was a very old and very dirty lightsaber. "I think it belongs to you," an awkward beat, "Obi-Wan."

No one said a word. Ben had a half-closed hand about the hilt when the name was spoken, but at the sound, his grip faltered. His eyes bore into those of his younger self, who was, against all logic, staring back with complete tranquility in his eyes.

"Yes, it does," Ben said eventually, politely.  _Surreal_ was not a large enough word. "Thank you, Obi-Wan." He took the saber and laid it in his lap, eyes never once leaving the apprentice's face. Obi-Wan gave a stiff, shallow bow.

For the next twenty seconds, Mace Windu frowned, Vokara Che quietly contemplated the medical implications of time travel, and Qui-Gon Jinn stood paralyzed by the door, struck dumb by the realization that the force signature of his Padawan was a pure mirror of… this  _other_ Obi-Wan. He had no reference point by which to classify the alarm he felt.

Twenty seconds ran out. Slowly, without collaboration, Mace Windu, Vokara Che, and Qui-Gon Jinn all turned their eyes to Master Yoda. After a leisurely pause, the Grandmaster shuffled on his repulsor table and cleared his throat.

"Speak with both of you, I will," He declared in a deep, serious tone. But then in something bordering on mirth, "But first, rest you must, Master Kenobi. Dying, bad for health it is, yes." He perched on the edge of his table and jumped deftly to the ground. "Sleep, you should. Rest in the Light."

"Master-" Mace was beginning to say, but Yoda cut him off.

"Convene with the High Council, we must."

"We will meet at once," the Korun nodded firmly.

"No. Tomorrow."

"Master?"

Yoda did not reply, and hobbled toward Obi-Wan instead. "Walk with me, Padawan," He waved a clawed hand to bring Obi-Wan to his side. They walked to the door, giving Master Jinn a wide berth. As they left, Padawan Kenobi cast a nervous glance at his master, but Qui-Gon's eyes were riveted on  _Master_ Kenobi.

For his part, Ben was staring, dazed and exhausted, at his returned lightsaber, his unwrinkled hands, his ginger fringe. He felt eyes on him and looked up. The eyes of master and former apprentice met, and both was afraid of what the other saw.

"Loiter you do, Qui-Gon," Yoda nagged from the hallway. "Have you not a stack of holobooks to return to Master Nu?"

Qui-Gon left the room without a word.

Alone now with the shock-ridden Jedi, Vokara reverted to a detached bedside manner, administering a new IV and rubbing bacta over the livid  _sai cha_ scar in silence. At length, she had to say: "Since I don't have your full medical history, I'll need you to fill in any major details, uh... Obi-Wan."

"Ben," He broke in, "I… I haven't been Obi-Wan in a long time." Looking at him, she wondered how old he had been when he'd earned that scar. His eyes made him look like he could've been a hundred. Through the sadness, he gave her the kindest of smiles. "Just… call me Ben."


	5. Consensus

 

 

 

Master Yoda and Obi-Wan ambled down the corridor together, speaking easily and quietly. It was unnerving how…  _calm_ Obi-Wan was about all of this. Unnatural. Never, in all his years of study of the Force or of the Order had Mace Windu ever encountered anything like it. Time travel. He suddenly realized that he would be in charge of briefing the council on this debacle. Where would he begin?

"What happened down there?" Qui-Gon appeared at his side. Mace was surprised to find that for once, he was completely sympathetic to Jinn's unbridled feeling.

"I don't know," the Master of the Order confessed. It was not an easy admission for either party. "The Force is thick down there, the deeper you go, the closer it becomes. But that in and of itself is normal, negligible. We were inspecting the damage… the man had claimed to be Kenobi, so when I found the 'saber, I gave it to Obi-Wan to compare with his own. As soon as he touched it, it… he had some sort of vision. He would not tell me what happened."

Qui-Gon's face was drawn tight in inscrutable emotion. "Psychometry? Is it possible he saw something that happened with the man's supposed 'death'?"

"I don't know," Mace reiterated. "He was in a trance for over a minute. I was worried. When it ended, I asked him what happened and he told me that he 'might know who the man was'."

"He  _might_ know?"

Mace shrugged. "I asked him what he saw, and he told me that 'he couldn't explain it'. He was shaken, I didn't press it. I trusted him. He didn't even hint that that man is  _himself."_

Qui-Gon glared to the spot up ahead where his apprentice stepped through a door alongside Master Yoda. He and his padawan were going to have words. Soon. As soon as possible. The lingering scintilla of Ben's presence set Qui-Gon's nerves on end, mingling with Obi-Wan's Force signature and confusing their bond. Qui-Gon needed to get to the bottom of this  _now._

"The council will want to speak with him," Mace warned.

"I will speak with him first," came the counter threat.

"Be careful, Qui-Gon." The underlying barb made Qui-Gon reign in his step in and turn to face the Korun master head on, a challenge in his eye. Mace didn't back down. "Time travel is… unprecedented. If that man really is a future version of your apprentice, if the Force revealed this to Obi-Wan in a vision… this is much larger than your hurt emotions." It was a criticism. Mace held the glare for a moment, and then softened somewhat to add, "And he's probably far more confused than he's letting on. The boy's sixteen. If it's shaken  _you_ this badly, old friend, try and imagine what's going through his mind."

Qui-Gon's lips thinned, his emotions refusing to leave completely him. "I intend to find out."

* * *

That evening, Obi-Wan entered the rooms and deposited his cloak on the couch without a word. He went straight to the meditation cushions, where Qui-Gon was waiting for him.

"Was Master Yoda insightful?" he asked, even tone a stream of worry bubbling beneath a veneer of calm.

"He… had more questions than answers, master," Obi-Wan confessed guiltily.  _And I have even more questions and even fewer answers._

"What happened today in the lower levels, Padawan?" it came out more interrogative than he'd meant it to, and Obi-Wan shrunk back into his robes.

"I'm sorry, master, I didn't mean to concern you, I-"

"Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon cut in, closing his eyes and breathing deliberately in, in, in, and then out. "I'm not…  _concerned,"_ which was a prolific lie, "I just need to know. Master Windu tells me you had a vision of some kind."

Obi-Wan still ducked as though he were under censure. "Yes, Master. I… when I held the lightsaber, I saw…" he paused, wondering how to describe it. "A vision. Mine. But not mine. It was… It was on Ilum."

Qui-Gon frowned. "You saw Ilum?"

"No," Obi-Wan tilted his head, trying to sort through his thoughts. "I never saw anywhere in particular, no real place. But I was on Ilum. When it happened originally, I mean."

"I'm… not sure I understand."

Obi-Wan's face said that he didn't really, either. "I mean it… it wasn't  _my_ vision, Master," He was frustrated, self-doubt making him blush. "It was  _his_  vision. I was just… remembering it for him. But I was… he was me. From later."  _From the future._

Qui-Gon stared, biting down on instinct to sort through his reactions. Everything he wanted to ask sounded like a demand, every thought born of fear, of a protective, paternal jealousy that was completely unbecoming his station. He inhaled slowly. In, in, in, and out, out, out.  _There is no emotion, there is peace._

"Master," Obi-Wan ventured timidly, not looking at him.

"Yes, Padawan?"

"I'm…" he shot a glance up at Qui-Gon, not sure how to communicate his anxieties without centering on them. But what else could he center on right now? "I'm not going mad, am I?" he begged.

Qui-Gon let out a mirthless huff. Who were they to know? "I do not think so, Obi-Wan."  _I hope not._ He drew up his long legs and settled into the lotus pose. "With me."

Obi-Wan obediently followed his master into meditation, desperate for the solace of the Force. They could not wade slowly into the deep; they fell, hard and flailing. The light swirled around them, offering little answers, asking for patience and open minds. Tossed within the waves, Obi-Wan could feel the stirrings of visions not his own, shadows of things he had never seen. Unfamiliar cliffs on Ilum. The 'saber and its blue heart. It would be his starting point, he felt, the beginning of his inquest. It would take time. Days. Weeks. Months.  _Years._  They would not understand. He would not understand. It was going to hurt. Despair,  _despair,_ the shadows said. He was prepared to defend:  _There is no ignorance, there is knowledge._

Something in the light smiled and rewarded his diligence:  _You will learn. Your master will learn. Ben will learn. You will all will learn, and live, and the balance will be restored. Take heart. It is a new beginning._

It sounded so grandiose, and so massive - too massive for him to comprehend. Already, it was slipping from his grasp. In his mind's eye, he found himself standing perched on a high mountain face above the clouds. He had no idea how he'd gotten there, and could not see the trail from which he must've emerged. He knew that his destination was somewhere in the distance, in the valley beyond this icy cliff face. Directly below him was a path only wide enough for one boot. His stomach jumped in fear, frozen earth numbing his hands where he clutched at the slope. But the path was even and clear. If he just put one foot in front of the other, carefully, just one at a time…

_Ping._

_Ping._

_Ping._

Master and apprentice emerged as one, ungraceful and confused. Qui-Gon arose first to answer the comm vying for their attention.

"Jinn."

" _The High Council has been briefed on the situation,"_ It was Mace Windu. " _We will hold a closed session tomorrow morning, before dawn. Obi-Wan has been summoned to appear at the fourth hour."_ Such exceptionally early summons communicated the gravity of their deliberation.

Master Yoda had told the padawan to expect it. Obi-Wan still gulped. Qui-Gon answered, "We will be there."

" _You misunderstand me, master Jinn. Only Obi-Wan's presence has been requested by the council."_

A two-pronged bolt of alarm shot through their small apartment. Obi-Wan wished fervently for his master to rebel, but Qui-Gon only bit his cheek before saying tersely, "Understood, Master Windu. He will be there."

And that was that.

Qui-Gon put away the comm and silently moved to their small kitchen. Obi-Wan shambled in after him, hands picking nervously at the hem of his sleeve. "Master?" He asked a dozen different questions at once. When Qui-Gon did not respond, he asked, "what are you going to do?" Surely Qui-Gon would do something. He always did  _something._

"I am going to make tea," He said, "and then I'm going to serve some to you, and some to me, and I'm going to drink my portion, and then I am going to meditate."

"Oh," Obi-Wan said. After half a moment's thought, he went to his master's right side and fetched the teapot and bowls while Qui-Gon filled the kettle. The implication of fealty did not pass the taller man's notice.

"You will need to retire early," He reminded the apprentice.

Obi-Wan paused. Resumed. "Yes, master," he resigned himself to his fate – alone.

They did not speak as they brewed and took their tea. Only afterward, as Obi-Wan was passing to go toward his bedchamber, did Qui-Gon reach out to brush the boy's shoulders with his hand, giving one arm a gentle squeeze. Obi-Wan did not look up, but his appreciation rippled over their bond.

Mind tingling with questions and apprehension, Qui-Gon turned out the overhead lights and went to his well-worn meditation cushion. He sank into the familiar pose and let his eyes drift closed, brow taught. The unsleeping Coruscanti sky blinked dull colors through the tall window beside him, light pouring over the angles of his face, inky shadows describing the lines of subdued worry.

_There is no passion, there is serenity._

* * *

Vokara had warned Ben late the night before. Thankfully, he'd slept until sunset, and was awake and alert for the summons. After she told him, he abandoned his bed and found a spot in the corner where he could meditate. Vokara hid her surprise when she found him there very, very early in the morning, sitting cross-legged on the hard floor, white hospital robes baggy around him.

"Ben?" She called in a whisper. It felt wrong to talk too loudly here at night. Slowly, his eyes fluttered open and he looked up at her. "I brought you these," She held out her bundle of browns and creams. "They should be your size." He took them from her gratefully and she left him to change.

Oh, he could've cried for the feel of them. A Jedi did not crave luxury, but clean robes were not merely a luxury, not to him. After twenty years alone in the desert with sand and sweat chipping away at his heart, these small luxuries were a momentous welcome home. Glad to experience the nostalgia in privacy, Ben adorned himself carefully in the ancient routine. He'd always been a lover of tradition. Leggings first. Inner tunic, outer. Left over right. Tabards; one for the Order, one for the Knight. They were bound together by the Force, an obi at his waist. The nerf hide belt represented his duty, holding the whole piece in place. Finally, worn openly on his belt was his soul, his lightsaber; as plain and as promising as the peace he was called to protect. He brushed his fingers over the hilt almost apologetically. He'd done his best to clean it, but it was still a sorry sight. He supposed he could see to it more thoroughly later.

Later. Because he wasn't going anywhere any time soon, it seemed.  _The past._ He took a steadying breath and brought his focus back to the present moment.

Vokara had included a grooming kit in her delivery, which he was inordinately thankful for. His thirty-five year old head of hair was far more abundant than the wispy cap he'd grown accustomed to, and it hung on his head like a mop. He trimmed it back, cropped close on his neck. He left it longer in front. He'd always enjoyed having a fringe, and besides, reversing a receding hairline was an irresistible opportunity. He trimmed his beard to that neat and precise length that he'd found years ago, perfectly situated between the realms of aristocracy and rogue. The beard had also benefited from his rejuvenation, but there remained something in the set of his mouth, something in the slant of his eyes that even the upheaval of time could not reverse.

Ben Kenobi was old, and he was wise. And at the moment, he was also rather afraid of what came next.

"Ready?" Vokara arrived as he was folding his hospital clothes. She reserved judgment on his appearance, but thought privately that he was born to wear robes. He was short, and the clothes were humble, but in them, he was the most notable man in the room. With the haircut and the uniform, she could see more easily the resemblance between Obi-Wan and Ben. Paradoxically, she could also more clearly see the differences.

"I suppose I am. I must thank you for your accommodations, Master Che, you have been most kind."

She smiled at him as he came to the door. "And whenever did you learn to use  _manners_ in the Halls of Healing, Kenobi?"

He smiled back. "When I had to learn to live without them entirely." He told her easily, affecting not to notice when the smile fled her face. "Now, I'm afraid I've forgotten… which way is the High Council Tower from here?" Vokara waved for him to follow her, and the two masters fell quietly into step with each other.

Ben ogled every column and statue and mosaic as they passed, tears sometimes only barely harbored behind his eyes. It was better than he saw it all again at night, in the dark. His silence begged Master Che not to comment, and she complied with a compassionate – and curious – air. She left him at the turbolift gate, standing alone in the silence of the night.

"May the Force be with you, Master Kenobi." She struggled with the name, but found that it fell off her tongue naturally once she'd decided to say it. He smiled at her.

"And also with you," he whispered, for the first time in decades. The lift doors slid shut, and the repulsors hummed their airy tone as he sped upwards toward what, in his mind, was a hall of ancient history.

The car stopped at the residential level, and when the doors hissed open, there was the face of his younger self. Qui-Gon stood at his side, looking as though he'd been up all night and was trying to hide it. They both seemed slightly taken aback by the sight of Ben freshly groomed and bedecked in Jedi browns. The object of their scrutiny bowed. "Master," He greeted, and wondered belatedly if he should have been more formal. He turned his gaze to Obi-Wan. "Padawan Kenobi."

"Master Kenobi," The apprentice frowned at the taste of it. Ben chuckled.

"Just Ben is fine," he smiled down at his younger companion as he stepped into the lift.

"May the Force be with you, padawan," Qui-Gon directed to his apprentice. He looked at Ben as if to address him as well, but paused. What would he call this man?

Ben bowed in time with Obi-Wan, responding to the first address. Qui-Gon's stiffened posture troubled him, but the turbolift doors slid shut before he could contemplate it further.

It was a long trip to the council chamber. Beside Ben, Obi-Wan shuddered, ribcage shivering in pure nerves. Ben cast him a kind look.

"Don't focus on your anxieties, padawan." He intoned mischievously. Obi-Wan turned to look up at him, surprised. Ben chuckled. "He'll hammer it through your skull eventually."

Obi-Wan let out a nervous laugh and shuffled his feet. He cast furtive glances at Ben out of the corner of his eye, intimidated and curious in equal measure. He shivered again.

When the door opened, Mace Windu was waiting for them. The normal guard of temple attendants had been excused for the confidential nature of this meeting. Ben was a pillar of calm, but Obi-Wan, beneath a stiff shell of training, was shaking like a leaf. When the council room doors opened to reveal august assembly beyond, the apprentice hastily clasped his hands to hide their trembling. Ben waited for Mace to walk ahead of them before he gave the boy a quick, reassuring squeeze on his shoulder. "Courage," He said, and stepped forward into the circle. Obi-Wan followed slightly behind and to the right, a padawan's place.

Selta lamps glowed softly from their mounts, dully illuminating the chamber room while Coruscant spun slowly through the darkened pre-dawn hours. The lights of passing aircars cast shadows on the floor. Seated directly across from the door, Master Yoda studied the newcomers.

"Wecome, Padawan Kenobi, Master Kenobi." There was a muted rush of displeasure at the repetition, and Ben sensed immediately that not all of the council agreed on his identity. He looked around at their faces and felt a tide of emotions wash over him. Alive, all of them. Depa. Ki-Adi. Saesee Tiin. Adi Gallia. He looked down at his feet and fought to release his overwhelmed heart. Oh, how he'd missed them.

"Hmm," was Yoda's only comment on the silent struggle, which doubtless the whole council could sense. As a mercy to the terrified padawan and the overwhelmed Master, Mace Windu took his time reiterating what the Council had already been told: they were here to deliberate the disturbance in the Force wrought by the arrival of Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi from the future.

Putting it that way, thought the time traveller himself, it was no wonder the council was murmuring under their breath. He had been rather preoccupied with dying when the 'disturbance' occurred, but he had it on multiple authorities that the Temple had never experienced a phenomena quite like it – and that it'd made even the most revered masters irritable and on edge.

"So," Ki-Adi dove in as the first contributor. "Master  _Kenobi_ ," Ah, so Master Mundi was playing the skeptic. Ben felt almost hurt. They had been close and trusting friends, in another life. "You claim that you are from the future."

"I claim nothing, Master Mundi," He said, and realized only later that the quiet murmur of surprise was because he'd known immediately to whom he was speaking, "I merely accept that which the Force reveals to me. As I am sure master Yoda and Master Windu, as well as Chief Healer Master Che can verify, for most of my waking hours since I arrived here, I have been under the impression that I was dead." Yoda didn't bother to cover his chuckle. Ben glanced at him. That troll could be a truly irreverent pest, sometimes.

"And rightly so. Murdered, or so it appears, hmm?" it was a prompt. Dutifully, Ben peeled back his tunics to reveal one edge of his  _sai cha_ scar, then the other. A few council members shifted in their seats.

"We have heard Master Che's report," Master Tiin said.

"But how is it possible?" Adi Gallia's piercing gaze challenged the room. "You should be one with the Force."

" _Should_ be," harrumphed Yoda. "Narrow, the Force is not. Constrained by our should and should nots, it never was. Another time, another place, death. Here and now, alive." He looked between the young Kenobi and the old. The council scrutinized them in unison.

"But how are we to know that the two are the same?" Shaak Ti asked in a reasonable tone. "The very event at hand has caused a disturbance so great to obscure itself. It is not the way of the Light."

"Clarity is the way of the Force," noded Eeth Koth in agreement.

"With respect, Masters," Ben spoke up with a practiced diplomacy, "The way of clarity has always been paved with patience and forbearance." He glanced around the room. "It is  _haste_  that is not the Jedi way."

Ki-Adi straightened in his seat, pleasantly impressed. "Well said, Master Jedi," he said. The tone of the room shifted.

"How shall we test you then, hmm?" Yoda prompted. "A solution, has the Force provided us?" He glanced around at the room, waiting for a thought.

Eeth Koth spoke up. "Padawan Kenobi," he said. Obi-Wan couldn't help his small jump of surprise at being addressed directly. "Master Windu tells us that when you found this man's lightsaber, you experienced a psychometric vision. Is this true?" Ben turned to watch his younger self in surprise, expectant expression matching those all around them.

"It was not psychometry," Obi-Wan found it surprisingly easy to speak confidently in this matter; something deep inside of him  _knew_ that what he said was right. "It was a memory, masters. Mine, but… his," He glanced at Ben. "I saw a scene from the caverns of Ilum."

A ripple of surprise ran a circuit about the room, and Ben was perhaps the most shocked of all. He and Obi-Wan shared a brief look.

"Surprised you are, Master Kenobi," observed Yoda. "Know of his vision you did?"

"No, masters," Ben said, casting Obi-Wan another startled glance. "I did not."

"Hmmm. Settle this we will. Visions of Ilum trivial matters are not. Important. Deep in meaning. Remember the vision you do, young Obi-Wan?"

"Yes, Master."

"Recite it to us, you will. Verify the account, your master will."

_Your master._ You, the master. Obi-Wan gulped. In the vision, he had been a master. A master of some years, seeking out a new soul. "In the vision, I stood in the dark, and a light appeared in front of me. I reached out and it came to me, rested in my palm. I grasped it, and it became a lightsaber – that one," Obi-Wan glanced at Ben's belt. "That one. Except… uh, cleaner." A few muted chuckles. Ben did not hear them. He was staring at Obi-Wan, hanging on his every word. It unnerved the padawan and he looked away. "Um… I – I ignited the saber and it felt right. Well built. I turned to leave, but I could not. There were snow banks on either side of me, and a starless sky above. A… a man appeared. He wore black all over, and… he couldn't breath right." Obi-Wan hesitated. "He… had a red lightsaber." Now, the entire council chamber was silent, ears trained to the voice of the junior padawan. "He attacked me. We fought. He cut me down. By the neck." And now, knowing about the scar, Obi-Wan had to glance at Ben.

"And then what, Padawan?" Mace coaxed him.

"My lightsaber exploded," He said. It had been and odd thing. Even unstable crystals took quite a bit of prompting to combust. "The crystal flew away and split evenly in two. The man and the red saber and my saber all fell away, but the crystal was there. The pieces flew away from each other, but then back together. Then it spun, and shot back toward me. It hit me in the chest."

Beat. "And?" Master Mundi prompted. Obi-Wan shuffled.

"That's where it stopped," he said.

All eyes shifted to Ben.

"Well?" Master Windu waited. "Is the boy's account accurate?"

Two halves of his soul, split, and tossed over oblivion, and shot back to him only as he lost awareness completely. He had never understood the vision until this moment. "To the letter," Ben said in a shocked and humbled tone. "It was what I saw the day I harvested the crystal for this saber on Ilum." He said firmly.

"And how is this proof of your identity?" Adi Gallia was still skeptical. "How do we know it was not very advanced psychometry?"

There was some silent contest over that. The council's vote was an even split of belief and dissent.

Ben took a moment to think. "Perhaps the council will accept this test in reverse," he laid out his gambit. "I will recount that which I - Obi-Wan - encountered at my first visit to Ilum, and Padawan Kenobi will verify  _my_ account."

An interested hum. Adi looked to Ki-Adi, who looked to Saesee, who tipped his head at Yareal Poof, who's neck swiveled toward Shaak Ti, whose lekku twitched at Eeth Koth, whose foot pointed toward Depa Billaba, who mentally nudged Mace, who nodded his acquiesce. Ben read the silent code with the eye of a seasoned councilor and began his recount.

"I stood in a hall of red light." Obi-Wan immediately went stiff at his side. "Two crystals, blue and green, waited for me at the end of the hall. I reached out and took hold of both. The blue turned to a saber in my hand – that one, in fact," He indicated Obi-Wan's saber, which was barely a year old, now. "I heard a sound behind me. When I turned, there was a demon there. We fought. I threw the green crystal at him. It burned him and itself. They both disappeared, leaving me in the dark with the blue crystal. It was in my hand when the vision ended."

Anyone could've determined the verdict by Obi-Wan's posture alone, but Mace still asked, "Is his report accurate, padawan?"

Obi-Wan nodded quickly. "Yes, master," He added on when he found his voice. "Completely and in detail."

Master and Padawan Kenobi shared a look.

"So combative, are your visions, Kenobi," Yoda chastised. It was an empty reprimand, meant to buy him a moment to think. At length, he spoke. "Private, the visions of Ilum are. Secretive, mysterious, would you say?" He glanced around at his fellow councilors, who nodded their agreement slowly. "Unreachable by force of will, unknowable by all but those of the sight, and those they tell?" more nodding. Yoda turned his eye back to the two Jedi standing before them. "Tell anyone of your visions, _ever_ , you have?" he asked.

Ben and Obi-Wan met each other's gaze for one, two, three seconds. They turned and said as one, "Not a soul."

The shifts in posture, the murmurs of surprise, the ripples of alarm and intrigue radiating across the Force were like the very first peak of dawn on a black sky. Yoda glanced at Mace Windu, and something passed between them with finality.

"Master Kenobi," The Korun master said, voice unwavering and assured. "You realize that this makes you the very first recorded time traveller of the Jedi Order."

Ben took a deep breath, absorbing the notion. He was also the very first Jedi to die and live to tell about it, as far as he knew. He'd also been the first Jedi to defeat a Sith in a thousand years, and the first Jedi to train the Chosen One, and the first one to fail at doing so properly. He exhaled. The Force did seem to like picking on him in that respect.

"Yes, I suppose you're right, Master Windu," he said, unaware that the whole council could hear the age in his voice. He glanced at Obi-Wan. "Though I cannot comprehend why the Force has granted me this."

"Patience, forbearance paves the path of clarity," Yoda supplied with a small green smile. Ben's expression softened. The Grandmaster looked around at the council members. Outside, the bright pastels of sunrise were beginning to encroach over the dark. "Secret, this matter will stay. Kept safe among the council. For what purpose Master Kenobi appears, we know not. Tell no one. Wait on the Force, we must. Meditate on this, all of us will." It was a promise as well as an order. "May the Force be with you, Obi-Wan Kenobi."

Both of them bowed. As they turned to leave, Ben put a steadying hand on Obi-Wan's shoulder. The younger man looked up to meet his gaze. A new understanding passed between them, concrete and terrifying. The disturbed laylines of the Force began to rearrange themselves, rolling like cosmic tumblers into their proper places, one click at a time.

Yoda stood along with the other council members once the two had gone. "A long path, I sense," he told them all. "Clouded. But firm." He nodded slowly to himself. He knew he would have to meditate on the matter more deeply and at length. But then… some things, the Force revealed plainly. "Yes," he said, after his thoughts settled. "Firm, the path is."

One step at a time.

 


	6. Settling In

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No one make any spiderman jokes.

"You've been holding out on us, Kenobi," Garen Muln hissed, elbowing his way into a spot at the table. Padawans Bant Eerin and Reeft glanced between the accused and the new arrival.

"What?" Asked Obi-Wan through a full mouth.

Garen ducked his head, glancing over his shoulder at the busy refractory. "You never told me you had a kriffing  _uncle_ in the Order!"

"What?" Reeft burst, belching as he did so.

Obi-Wan swallowed his food and his suppressed panic with it. "Um… yeah," He said, very awkwardly, leaning back from the table.

"Wait, you  _do?"_ Bant asked.

"You son of gundark!" Garen was smiling manically.

"Uncle as in  _related_ uncle?"

"What is he like?"

"I've never heard about another Kenobi…"

"He's right over there," Garen pointed subtly over his shoulder. Reeft turned his whole body to look and Garen smacked him. "Don't do that, he'll see us," He hissed.

"Wow," Bant was more tactful in her spying. "He does look like you, Obi. What's his name?"

"Jedi Master Ben Kenobi," Garen pronounced with mock airs. "An uncle and a  _master_ to boot."

"I've never heard of him before," Bant was frowning. "Obi-Wan?" All three of them looked to their reticent friend, who was scrambling to remember the story the council had fed to him. How it had spread so quickly to the rumor mill also known as the Junior Padawan dojo, he wouldn't guess.

"I only met him a few weeks ago," he said. It wasn't a lie. "He's been Watchman to a system in the Outer Rim for years, this is the first time he's been in the Temple since I was in the crèche."  _That_ was the lie.

"Wow," Reeft said, turning (more subtly) to look again. "For that long?"

"And in the Outer Rim? Chizk, what'd he do to get stuck there?" Garen looked over his shoulder, watching as Ben Kenobi filled a glass with water and thanked the serving droid at the salad station. "Sounds like a loose cannon to me," the padawan decided, turning around to stuff a heaping spoon of daro root salad into his mouth. "I be' 'e'd be 'ood 'riends with 'aster 'ui-Gon, eh?" Garen smiled around his lunch. Obi-Wan shrugged.

"They've met… Don't really seem to get on well." Which, considering the actual truth, hurt him a lot more than it should have.

"That's a shame," Reeft said between bites. "why not?"

"I don't know," Obi-Wan admitted. "I think… I think they knew each other, before the whole Outer Rim thing." He wondered if he would get in trouble with Ben or the Council for coming up with his own lies. "But I guess they grew apart."

"Hmm," was Reeft's only answer, because his mouth was full again.

"I wonder what happened," Bant wondered quietly. Obi-Wan shrugged at her. He couldn't tell her he'd been preoccupied with the problem for as long as Ben had been here, because then he'd have to explain why.

"I don't know," He bit into his sandwich.

With ravenous pubescent appetites and good food in abundance, the four padawans continued their meal without conversation, opting to commune in a guttural chorus of crunching, chewing and slurping, punctuated occasional belching from Reeft's direction followed by an apology.

"Ah, youth," a new voice reminisced over their mealtime carnage. They all turned to look, but Padawan Eerin was the only one with an empty mouth.

"Master Kenobi," She spoke for the group, gills flashing an even brighter red than normal. Ben quirked an eyebrow and smiled at Obi-Wan.

"I see I need no introduction."

"I apologize, Master Kenobi." Obi-Wan's ears reddened.

"You really must stop calling me that, Obi-Wan. If anything, Master Ben will do." He glanced at Garen and Reeft, and despite how the sight of them sent daggers of bittersweet grief through his heart, their stuffed-cheek, surprised faces made him smile. "Padawans," he nodded, acknowledging their fascinated staring. They swallowed in a rush and bowed from their seats.

"Master Kenobi," They chorused. Reeft coughed and apologized.

"Is there something you need, Master K-uh, Ben?" Obi-Wan asked politely, not wishing to be rid of Ben so much as he wished to be rid of this situation. Garen was looking between Obi-Wan and Ben with rabid attention.

"Yes, actually. I've been looking for your master all morning – do you know where I might find him?"

Obi-Wan frowned slightly. "No. He hasn't told me his plans for today, I'm sorry." Obi-Wan was in the middle of a studies cycle, and was thus occupied with classes most of the day. Qui-Gon's activities were his own prerogative. Ben nodded in understanding.

"I see. Thank you." Ben nodded at his younger self. "A good day to you all." He turned to leave, and paused momentarily to smirk at their Dressellian member, who'd already begun stuffing his face again. "A word of advice, Padawan Reeft," He smiled impishly beneath his mustache, "It does tend to help if one  _chews_ before swallowing." He stepped away before the poor boy could stop choking on his embarrassment. Garun Muln, compassionate friend that he was, roared with laughter. "Obi-Wan's been telling him that for  _years!"_ he called after the retreating master.

Obi-Wan fought back a smile. "Still am, apparently," he muttered to himself.

"How did he know my name?" Reeft wondered aloud, once he'd stopped choking. Garen was still laughing too hard for them to hear.

* * *

It had been two, almost three weeks since Ben Kenobi had appeared from the future. Thanks to the Council's quick response, his assimilation into Temple life had been quiet, swift, and handled with the same spare-no-expense routine of perjury that the council used to send their knights deep undercover for special missions.

His lengthy medical records had been updated to the best of his memory, much to the horror and wonder of Vokara Che. While she'd had him imprisoned in the Halls, she had also altered his finger prints just slightly enough so that they no longer fetched Obi-Wan's data. The DNA problem was still a work in progress, but since fingerprints were the standard medical identifiers, it wouldn't be an immediate problem.

Within days, the council had delivered him new identification documents and effects, along with a collection of phony mission reports from years past which they asked him to review for the sake of continuity. They'd created a new history for him: he'd spent the last eleven years acting as Watchman to the Hune sector in the Outer Rim. Although he'd never trained an apprentice, he'd been promoted to the title of Master some years ago following a mission into Hutt space – he made a note to read that report first. He didn't know which councilmember had been tasked with coming up with the thick holobook of reports that Ben Kenobi was supposed to have sent in over the past decade, but he admired their dedication to the grand lie. He was flattered by their description of his fake heroics. It was interesting reading, at least.

They  _had_ allowed him to keep his surname, which was a pleasant surprise. What with his younger self running about, Ben had been fully prepared to select a new name, and had intended to become Ben Lars in honor of his distant but incredibly important family on Tatooine. But a good lie is always built on a grain of truth, the council insisted. Particularly as Obi-Wan grew older, the family resemblance would be impossible to explain. Therefore, on paper Ben became Obi-Wan's biological uncle, on his mother's side. It was not unheard of for Jedi to have blood relatives within the Order; Tholothian cousins Adi Gallia and Stass Allie were a prime example. Ben supposed he ought to ask Master Gallia's thoughts on the matter next time he saw her; he had no idea how he'd be expected to act around Obi-Wan. He and his last 'nephew' hadn't ever been allowed to have a very close relationship.

But that could wait. There were other matters to attend to. Preoccupation with frivolities was not the Jedi way, but, as Ben had learned repeatedly in the harsh dunes of Tatooine, there was something to be said about the practical benefits of homely comforts.

They'd given him free claim to whichever living quarters were currently unoccupied, a flattering gesture. It didn't take him long to select a small, single-occupant apartment sequestered away on the outermost edge of the main residential level. It was shoved up against a massive bulkhead, which made it smaller than most of the other rooms. When he indicated the choice to the quartermaster, the gran's eyestalks had raised in bemusement.

"Usually only send fresh knights to live there," He'd said. "Thing's the size of a shoebox, and can get as hot as a boiler. You sure?"

Small and warm; familiar commodities. "It's perfect."

The robed gran had shrugged, tapping an authorization code into his 'pad. "As you say, Master."

Upon his arrival, the space was, true to the quartermaster's word, defined only by its size and temperature, but Ben intended to change that. Already, he'd adopted a small family of plants from the greenhouses, and was beside himself with glee to have something  _green_ in his environment. One vined specimen, which preferred to grow downwards, he set to live atop the cooling unit in his (very small) kitchen. One he put on the windowsill in his bedroom, another on the low eating table in the common area, and the final three out on the balcony – which, in keeping with theme, was miniscule.

"There, my young friend," Ben said, arranging the last of his new wards just so in the mid-morning light. "I've been told your home planet is a sunny one, I think you will enjoy it out here best." He re-packed the jostled soil in the pot with smile. "I admit I never quite got used it, myself. Pale skin, you understand. Still, it's too damn cold here at night, I never sleep." He brushed off his hands and stood with enjoyable ease. "But it is nice not having old joints to worry about." He looked around at his handiwork, six hopeful sprouts drinking up their water rations with contentment. He went inside and prepared a pot of tea. He sat atop his meditation cushion and surveyed his hovel with an irrepressible smile. "There now," he said, to his plants, to the old kitchen equipment and the stained carpet and the one slanted wall that hummed from the bulkhead behind it. "That's a bit more like home, isn't it?"

* * *

It was frustrating, trying to make friends with people you already knew. Hiding his true identity was not hard, and was in many ways a relief. Just being back in the Temple, seeing the Order back in its glory was more than enough for Ben; sacrificing his name and his history was of no consequence. But sacrificing his relationships was much harder.

The younger they were, the easier it was. Padawans Bant and Garen and Reeft and the others were so vastly different than the knights Ben knew they would one day become, he could hardly think of them as the same people he'd known. In addition, he was able to interact with them from a position of authority, even if his relationship with Obi-Wan was a friendly one. He seldom had excuse to visit the four en masse, but when he did, he tried to make it count. It was unnerving, but oddly, deeply satisfying to see his best friend's faces fill with juvenile horror whenever he made witty comments at their expense. Even Obi-Wan's expressions were worth the time. It was a perk of bearing the title 'Master', he supposed. In this respect, interacting with the younglings was a highlight of the time travelling experience.

Adults were another matter entirely.

The Council was keeping an understandably close eye on Ben as he moved back into the Order. They consulted him regularly for their investigations on the disturbance, time travel, and the damage done in the lower levels. However, aside from the fact that the massive crater he'd arrived in had been filled, they never had much to report. Even so, they enjoyed sending representatives to see how he was doing – whether this was a gesture of concern or suspicion or both, Ben was unsure. More often than not, they sent either Master Yoda or Master Windu. Master Yoda was easier to talk to. He had hardly changed from what Ben remembered, and of all the councilors was the most ready to accept Ben's odd predicament at face value. Yoda was the only person who made Ben forget, if even for a moment, that he was in the past.

Master Windu, on the other hand, made it painfully obvious. The Korun was as businesslike in his demeanor as always, but there was a burr of underlying curiosity that never quite left him. He didn't know Ben, the time traveler realized eventually. He knew Obi-Wan, and he knew that Ben was Obi-Wan, and he was constantly drawing connections between the two. Coming from Ben's side there was also the fact that, in his past, he and Mace had always been close friends. This led to misunderstandings now. There had been several awkward moments during their meetings where Ben had laughed a bit too openly, joked a bit too personally, or, heaven forbid, called Master Windu by his first name. Mace tried to take the slips in stride, but his discomfort was obvious. Ben wondered if he and the Korun would ever be friends in this timeline.

In the face of such uncertainty, Ben turned his eyes away from people and toward more productive activities. It was a long-formed habit that had served him well on Tatooine. He found the lightsaber guru droid, Huyang, and levered his talents to polish his saber hilt to a shine it hadn't known since before the Clone Wars. He ordered new robes for himself, a new belt, boots, and a cloak. He bought incense to liven the dusty smell of his rooms, and daily tended to his frondescent roommates, which were growing nicely in their respective perches. He spent hours watching the holonet news to remind himself of the current events. Last of all, he managed to locate a local (underground) dealer of fine sapir tea, and had just collected his order that afternoon.

This last achievement was the kingpin to a much larger scheme that had to do with Qui-Gon Jinn. Namely, to get the bull-headed man to talk to him.

Ben had been experiencing problems connecting with the Jedi he'd once known, it was true, but Qui-Gon Jinn was in a class all his own. He had been outright avoiding Ben since the day he'd appeared. Now, weeks later, even when Ben saw Obi-Wan by himself he could sense the master's aura of distrust hanging around the boy. It hurt Ben more than he cared to say. He understood where it came from, however, and it was in this understanding that allowed him to develop a strategy. With the calm ease of a freighter mag train, The Negotiator laid his trap and lie in pursuit.

He knew the path that Qui-Gon took back to his quarters every day; all he had to do was go the main corridor at the right moment and time his 'stroll' just perfectly, and if the Force was with him, he would cross paths with his old master just as he turned the corner from the lift.

The Force was indeed with him that day.

"Ah, Master Jinn," Ben smiled with mock surprise, pretending not to notice Qui-Gon's reflexive air of alarm. "I see your apprentice more than I see you these days," he laughed at his own joke. Qui-Gon looked uncomfortable.

"Master Ben," the taller man bowed politely. He was likely the only one in the entire Temple who had taken Ben's preference for this moniker to heart, but the choice had mostly been to avoid his surname. Both of them knew this. "You look well. I hope you are settling in?"

"I am," Ben smiled back. "In fact, I was just on my way back to sample this tea I've just bought," he produced the small flimsiplast bag of leaves. "Whole leaf aged sapir."

Qui-Gon's brows lifted. "That is an unusually fine sample for Coruscant. Where did you find it?"

Ben smiled secretively. "I have my sources. Would you like to join me for a cup of tea, Master Jinn?"

Qui-Gon hesitated, now seeing the trap for what it was. He regarded Ben with intense chagrin. It had been Qui-Gon who had taught Obi-Wan how incredibly rude it was to refuse an invitation to tea. And now, he was trapped by his own precepts. With his very favorite variety of tea, no less. He should've seen it coming. "Of course," He said, and Ben's smile widened, eyes gleaming in shrewd satisfaction.

"Wonderful. My rooms are just this way."

* * *

 Qui-Gon had not allowed himself to imagine what Ben's living quarters would look like, but somehow, these were not at all what he was expecting. Perhaps he had internalized images of Obi-Wan's room and extrapolated them; closed windows, a messy bed, neatly pressed clothes in the closet and copious amounts of holobooks strewn all around. With these latent images in mind, Ben's small apartment could not have been more surprising.

It was a well-lit space. The windows were all open, though some had the blinds drawn halfway to block the evening sun. The door to the balcony was cracked open, too, and he could hear a soft windchime singing from a spot outside. It was a cramped apartment, but the furniture was arranged comfortably and spaciously, making the whole room seem bigger than he knew it actually was. The copious amount of holobooks, though they were indeed great in number, had been neatly arranged onto a bookshelf, only a few lying out on the tabletop for reading. By far the most surprising element of all was the plants; happy little things sitting spry and healthy in their ceramic homes.

"My apprentice would call these strays," Qui-Gon observed, bending down to stroke the leaves of the young woosha plant sitting on the tea table.

"I believe 'pathetic life form' is his favorite," Ben replied from the kitchen, ceramic tea kit clinking on the counter. He appeared moments later with a laden tea tray. "But he won't tell you that."

"Won't he?" Qui-Gon asked, eyeing Ben's face. Master Kenobi set the tray on the table, moving the woosha to one side. He gestured for Qui-Gon to take a seat so the two were facing each other over tea.

"Not until he's old and soft and come to realize that plants can be excellent company if one is desperate enough." Ben poured a bowl first for Qui-Gon, and then for himself. "You were always right about that, I feel I owe you an apology."

"You owe me nothing," Qui-Gon said, almost defensively. Ben nodded to himself slowly. So they were to get right into it, then. As a younger man, Ben's wit had been as sharp as a razor and as meandering as a maze, but many years of talking had taught him that there was nothing to be gained in unappreciated superfluity.

"From a certain point of view," Ben said, savoring his first sip of sapir, which it had to be said was of an incredibly fine stock. "But from another point of view, I owe you everything I am. I know you dislike the idea, Master Jinn, but you are –  _were_ my master."

"It is not that-" Qui-Gon said, holding but not partaking from his bowl. "I do not dislike you, Master Ben."

"You dislike what I am, then. You dislike how I have upset things."

Qui-Gon hesitated, and then let out his breath. Well, it was only true. "And do you blame me?"

"Not in the slightest. Truthfully, I would be insulted if you were any less protective of your apprentice," Ben smiled. "I know that my presence has caused confusion in your bond with Obi-Wan, and I apologize for it. I wish it were not so. However…" Ben paused, allowing himself to be vulnerable as the only extant version of his master glared at him over a cup of his favorite tea. "I am without friends here, Qui-Gon," it felt like begging. "And whether you know it or not, you know me better than any other person alive – even Obi-Wan."

"I have no idea what kind of man you are," Qui-Gon said, voice haunted by thoughts of old apprentices, of the way Ben had spoken of the Sith mere weeks before.

"You know  _exactly_ the kind of man I am," Ben replied, a small smile hiding behind his beard. "From whom do you think I learned how to spoil this many pathetic lifeforms?" he gestured to the resident greenery. "I am hardly a botanist."

Qui-Gon glanced around the room at the plants, at the incense burner in the corner. They were not things that his apprentice had ever cherished – in fact, Obi-Wan habitually moaned about his master's collection of plants, arguing that they received better treatment than he did. And it was Qui-Gon, not Obi-Wan, who so often raised the blinds on their windows when they meditated, who lit incense on cold nights to spice the air.

But Ben's Force signature was so  _similar_ to Obi-Wan's. Not quite as similar as it had been that first day, but… similar enough to make his throat constrict in foreign emotion. Unable to pinpoint why Ben was still wrong in what he said (he was, though), Qui-Gon sipped at his tea. Ben followed suit, and a long silence passed between them. "This is very good," Qui-Gon admired quietly. Sapir had long been his favorite tea, and these days Obi-Wan had made it a morning staple. He wondered if Ben had developed his own affinity, or if he was catering.

"You're welcome to come back at any time to share," Ben told him, and added, "if I still have any left, that is."

His question answered, Qui-Gon allowed a small smile to cross his face.

Eventually, the taller master rose and left for his own quarters with a quiet, awkward air. They had drunk the rest of their tea in silence and had said little in way of parting, but Ben still counted the meeting as a resounding success. He'd spoken to Qui-Gon Jinn and he'd made him smile. One small step at a time.

"He  _thinks_ he's the master here," Ben told the woosha as he collected the tea things onto their tray. "What he doesn't know is that behind this fresh young face, I've got a solid six years on him. An odd thing, to be older than one's master." He hefted the tray into the kitchen and loaded the dishes into the sonic. "Hardly the oddest facet of my new employment. Still…" Ben chuckled, rinsing but not scrubbing the teapot. "I think I should like to buy more sapir."

 


	7. Contemplation

It took fourteen and a half standard days for the severity of Ben's situation to completely occur to him. When it did, he reverted to habit.

"Where did you learn that?"

Ben, who'd spend the past two hours with his eyes closed and mind far, far away on the dunes of Tatooine, stumbled out of his kata with a jerk. He turned to face Mace Windu, who looked apologetic.

"I'm sorry, I assumed you knew."

Ben glanced around the small private arena he'd claimed for the morning. "No, I must've missed you." He deactivated his lightsaber, which drew Mace's eye.

"It's a fine blade. Adegan, isn't it?"

Ben allowed himself a flutter of pride. "Pontite."

Mace's eyebrows shot up in surprise. He glanced at the saber in Ben's hand. "May I?" Ben offered the hilt, and Master Windu took it and turned it over in his hands. "Looks far more fit when it's clean," he said, running experienced hands over the worn handgrip, the scratches and the scuffs that remained. "Still looks like it's been through at least seven of the nine hells," he said.

Ben gave a partial smile. "Sand will do that."

"Sand?" Mace looked up, curious. Ben's smile faltered. Mace handed the saber back to its owner and folded his hands into opposite sleeves. "Master Yoda has kept me from asking this, but the rest of the council is growing restless, as am I." Ben braced himself, damping down his emotions by force because he could not begin a new kata. "So, Master Kenobi," Mace stepped forward and gave him a steady, searching look. "What _happened?_ Why are you here?"

The question he'd been asking himself since the day he'd arrived – the question he'd been avoiding answering for as long as he could find chores to keep himself occupied. But now it was there, shoved in his face by the Force and rubbed in further by the Master of the Order. The latter, of course, was far more interrogative.

"I don't know," Ben said, feeling the weight of starsystems on his chest. "I'm sorry." He lowered himself to the floor and sat with a slouched, tired back. After a moment's thought, Mace came to sit next to him.

"You don't know, or you don't want to tell me?" he pressed.

Ben considered this. Did he know why he was here? There was the obvious answer, but surely that was too…  _good_. Too blessed for the likes of Ben Kenobi. Desert hermits with the blood of the galaxy on their hands weren't redeemers. Decrepit war generals who'd killed their kin didn't deserve second chances. Yet, of all people, from all times, here he was. His core trembled at the thought.

"I don't…" Ben struggled to speak. "I can't," He said, to Mace or to the Force, he wasn't sure. Master Windu sighed quietly.

"The Force itself sent you here, Master Kenobi. As unprecedented as it is, it must be for an important reason."

Change the past. Change the future. Scrub the blood of a thousand worlds off his hands. Stop the Sith. Avert war.  _Bring balance._ It rose like a chant from the depths of his soul, and he tamped it back down. "I am not fit for it," He whispered. Mace watched him, sensing his confusion and fear and saying nothing about it.

"Fit or not, the Force chose  _you,_  Obi-Wan Kenobi," They were in private, so the name only drove his point home. "That cannot be a mistake."

Ben took a deep breath and released it shakily.  _But could it not?_ After a lengthy pause, Mace realized he was making no headway. He stood and stepped toward the door.

"When you're ready to reveal why you're here, what you're avoiding and where on  _earth_ you learned those katas, the council will be waiting." The Master of the Order left Ben Kenobi to ruminate alone. The Force was lighting an uncomfortable fire in him, kicking at an old heart that'd known too much loss to keep itself beating properly. But surrender to loss was not the Jedi way. So, with a heave of pure will and no spirit to speak of, Ben stood and pulled the hood of his cloak over his head. He left the dojo and made his way down half-familiar paths, seeking somewhere where he could quietly burn.

* * *

The Temple rooftop gardens were a place for tranquil walks, horticultural lessons, quiet conversation, and the occasional procession of younglings on an afternoon outing. There were not, as a general rule, a place where you could toss of your boots, belt, and tabards and lie back on the grass wherever you pleased. Ben Kenobi had learned to give up 'general rules' decades ago.

"Cavalier have you grown in your age," Yoda's gimmer stick tapped on the marble path until he met the grass. Ben could hear the short robes plucking the blades of grass until a small shadow fell over his face. "Received many complaints, I have."

Ben, uncombed hair fallen back over his forehead, arms folded across his unadorned tunics, knees bent and bare feet dug luxuriously into the grass, did not open his eyes. "I cannot apologize for the undue prejudice of others, Master."

"In bare tunics, you are."

"Indeed I am."

"Uncivilized this is."

"From a certain point a view.

"In the gardens, you are."

"Yes."

"A place for  _lazing_  they have never been."

"Haven't they?" Ben wriggled into his spot more firmly.

Yoda chuckled in amusement. With a few soft grunts, he set down his gimmer stick and crossed his short legs on the ground near Ben's head. "Wonderful the mind of a child is," he teased.

"Wonderful the joints of a young man are," Ben shot back playfully, "I haven't been able to focus over the sound of my knees in years."

"Oh?" Yoda asked, curiosity piqued. Ben finally opened his eyes.  _Chissk._ He'd forgotten again. He glanced up at Yoda, whose constancy made it so easy to forget the year. He felt his face turn pink.

"Yes. Quite a few, actually."

"Hmm," was all Yoda said. He propped his cane up under his chin and surveyed their surroundings; wind chimes, ancient trees, exotic gardens, shining marble. Beyond the protective transparisteel roof, blurred lines of speeders inched across the skies like metal ants. "Different you are than the Kenobi I know. Many years of growth, maturity you have; bemoan old joints you should not. Wisdom I sense in you. Much more valuable than gross matter this is."

The compliment was humbling; Ben had never thought he'd hear it. The glow of praise faltered somewhat when the green master chortled in that mischievous way of his and added, "Unorthodox wisdom.  _Qui-Gon's_ wisdom, hmm?" He poked Ben's shoulder with his stick. "Ruin you, my grandpadawan finally did."

Ben smiled, but it was bittersweet. He said, "Not quite as such. Qui-Gon's wisdom isn't the sort to take root right away. It has to ferment for a time – a  _long_ time." Twenty some odd years, in fact. "The Living Force is like fine wine," Ben waxed nostalgic. Yoda nodded sagely.

"And those who imbibe, drunk on it may become." It sounded like warning to Ben, but then the Grandmaster smiled and teased, "explain many things this does." Ben burst out laughing at that, remembering Qui-Gon's horrible reputation in the eyes of the council. "But balanced it has made you, young Kenobi. Always too sober you were." Obi-Wan stole a frowning glance at him then, the recurrent furrow reappearing on his brow. " _Brood_ you do. Perhaps lazing good for you will be."

Obi-Wan chuckled lightly and let his head fall back against the grass, eyes drifting shut once more. He'd been up here for at least an hour, maybe two, or more? He couldn't recall. He'd been adrift in  _the moment_ to avoid his anxieties. Wasn't that what Qui-Gon had always taught him?

"The Unifying Force and the Living Force," Yoda mused out loud while Obi-Wan dozed, "not separate are they. Connected. Parallel." Green ears shone pink in the low sunlight when he turned to look at his time travelling friend. "Learned this, you have?"

"Yes, Master."

"Hmm. Struggle to grasp it even  _I_ do, Master Kenobi," Yoda admitted. Ben could not have been more startled, and now sat up fully to face the ancient Jedi. Yoda chuckled at his mussed expression. "Surprised you should not be. Died, you did. Died, I have not. Teach  _me_  a few things, I am sure you could."

Ben was close to sputtering. "Master Yoda, I am not wiser than  _you,_ " to even contemplate it was heresy. Wiser than Master  _Yoda?_ Impossible. For all that he'd done? For all that he hadn't done? What wisdom was there to be gained in that?

"We measure not wisdom in  _quantity,_ padawan. One halo lamp may yet better illuminate an ancient hall of candles. Wiser than me, perhaps not. But wiser in ways I am  _not_ , you are." Their eyes met, and Ben could not contradict what he said. He'd seen the future, after all. He'd fought more Sith than any Jedi he'd known in his past life, to say nothing of those of the present –  _past_ day. He'd been the first true hermit of the Jedi Order in centuries. He'd trained the Chosen One – he'd fought the Chosen One. He'd died. He'd come back. And through it, he'd been given a gift.

_Wisdom_ isn't what he would call it, but if not that, then what?

"Chosen you, the Force has. Insight, it has given you, wisdom.  _Time_. Abuse not these gifts, Master Kenobi. Dead you are not. Alone, you are not. The will of the Force must we follow, and share this task, you must." He let that sink in. Ben's brows drew up in a frown once more, microscopic tissue fibers reiterating their well-worn parts, wearing the creases in his skin nanometers deeper than they had been moments ago. Yoda smacked him with his gimmer stick as he stood to his clawed feet.

"Ah!" Ben couldn't keep the surprised cry from escaping. He rubbed at his arm, unsure of his trespass.

" _Brood,_ you will not," Yoda scolded, grunting as his joints decried his decision to stand. "Complain of  _old joints_ to meyou will not, youngling." He said, harrumphing back onto the pathway as Ben replaced his tabards, obi, belt and boots. The two walked toward the rooftop doors with a magnificent sunset blooming beside them, carefully calculated in Coruscant's weather offices.

"I'm not sure what my next step should be, Master," Ben admitted as they walked. "There is too much to say, to do. I don't know where to begin."

"Time the Force has given us. Time we will take, hmm?" As they approached the long stairwell back down to the upper levels, Yoda waved Ben over with a curled claw. Ben dutifully reached out an arm and let his great grandmaster climb up to his back, small green arms wrapping around his neck. "Agree with  _younger_ joints, these steps do."

Ben smiled. "Age matters not, master."

Yoda tapped him on the head (a bit roughly) with the ball of his cane. "Hypocrisy you preach. Respect your elders, you always have. What happened, hmm?"

Obi-Wan shrugged. "The future," he said. Age showed in his voice, but it mattered not.

"Always in motion, the future is," Yoda reminded him by his ear. "Mysterious are the ways of the Force. But not without guidance are you."

"Master?"

"Sometimes carry each other, we must, to reach a common goal," Yoda tapped Ben's shoulder as they came to the bottom of the stairs, and the taller knight bent over and helped him off his back. "Carry your burdens alone, you must not," Yoda instructed. "If alone the Force wished you to relive this darkening future, bring you  _here,_ it would not have, hmm?"

Ben nodded, inhale, exhale. No. He wasn't alone. He wasn't  _alone_. It was comforting knowledge, but… it was a concept he would have to relearn. He fell into step with Master Yoda once more and they walked together in silence. A few knights and padawans turned their heads to look at Ben's grass stained trousers, and Ben decided that he didn't much care. They passed by the initiate sparring dojo where two dozen young Jedi were learning  _Shii-Cho_ stances. A few turned to beam at Master Yoda as he passed. The old master chuckled.

"The heart of a Jedi, the blade is," He recited idly, turning a keen eye up to Ben's face. "Practicing unusual katas, I hear you have been."

Ben raised his eyebrows in chagrin. "I was unaware Master Windu was in the business of soliciting gossip."

"Gossiping, no," Yoda waved a hand. "Likes to complain to his old master. Vexing, it is. Even so, curious I was to hear that Master Kenobi practices katas unknown by even Mace Windu." He allowed a hint of masterly pride in his eyes. "Developed his own form, he has. Know saberplay better than all others, he does."

"All except for you, master."

Yoda smiled at that. "Except for me," he agreed. "See these katas, I would."

Ben hesitated and said, "You will not recognize them, master."

"And why is that?"

"Because I created them, master." He glanced down at his companion, who stopped in his tracks, an uncharacteristically surprised look on his face. He smiled, and tapped his cane on the ground with finality.

"See them I  _must_ , Master Kenobi."

Ben bowed slightly at the waist. "As you wish, Master."

* * *

 

It was difficult to find private teaching dojos at this time of day, when all the padawans were out of their classes and holed away with their masters for instruction and katas. So it was in was in one of the larger communal senior dojos that Ben gave Master Yoda a demonstration.

He'd based these katas on Soresu and performed them in the swirling sands of Tatooine. It was the desert weather that gave them their shape. Not focused and structured like the rock-hard Form III, they twisted and turned, lunged and rolled. Like the wisps off a sand dune he moved through the steps, forever worn, never beaten, falling and rising until the twin suns set. His blade whirled in front of him, in back, to the side, burning airborne glass, protecting him from the onslaught of the coming sandstorm. His stance was Ataru, his blade was Soresu, but the line of his body and the graceful turns and rolls were something all his own.

"Hmm," Yoda alerted him when he'd come to a stopping point. "A visitor we have."

Ben was grateful for the notice. He tended to get very wrapped up in these katas; they were a mental exercise as much as they were physical. Master Yoda's consideration earned him a grateful nod.

The visitor was none other than Cin Drallig, Obi-Wan's old saber instructor. "That is very impressive," the longhaired man said, circling around Ben to stand by Master Yoda. He eyed Ben with a masterful look. "I've never seen a variant on Form III quite like it."

"Create it, he did," Yoda piped up.

"Really?" Cin glanced between the two and let out an airy laugh. "Must've been living under a rock when you did," He addressed Ben with an air of humor, "I would have remembered seeing it in the salles."

"You're closer to the mark than you might imagine," Ben chuckled, "I was in the Outer Rim." It was refreshing to tell the plain truth.

"Really? Well, I commend your dedication, master…?" Cin extended his hand.

"Mm. A Watchman retired from his remote post, Master Kenobi is," Yoda provided. Master Drallig faltered.

" _Kenobi,_ you say?"

Ben chuckled. "Yes… I believe you know my nephew, Obi-Wan."

"Nephew!" Cin exclaimed, a smile growing on his face. They shook hands. "Well, isn't that something. You must've been stuck out in the Rim for some time. Had I known there were  _two_ Kenobis under this roof, I'd have had you in with the initiates sooner. An affinity for saberplay must run in the family."

"You flatter me, Master Drallig," Ben smiled. Then a realization hit him. "Although I admit I haven't actually seen Obi-Wan fight before." Which was an odd prospect. To see  _himself_ fight. To see his  _younger_ self fight, with all the inexperience and sloppy guard that that entailed.

"He's a solid duelist," Cin praised, "and growing incredibly proficient in Ataru."

"Hmm," Ben smiled, recalling those days of flips and twists and showy bladework. "I've studied a bit myself," He said.

"It shows. A match between the two of you would be quite the spectacle." Master Drallig chuckled darkly in the way only a longsuffering teacher could. "You could teach the boy a thing or two for me, I'm sure." Ben laughed.

Master Yoda had turned his attention elsewhere. "Hmm, burning your ears were, Padawan Kenobi?"

The other two masters turned, and Obi-Wan, who'd stepped quietly into the dojo moments before, turned bright red. Well  _now_ his ears were burning. "Um, no, master, my apologies. Serra said I could find you in here."

"Oh, yes. Do you need something?" Cin asked. The training dojos, doubtless whence Obi-Wan had come, were his domain.

"Um," Obi-Wan looked bashful once more. "My master asked me to tell you that… the exterior wall of training room besh aught five one seems to have been damaged."

This made Ben snort. "Masterful use of the passive voice." Obi-Wan glowered.

"I see," Master Drallig bit his lip to keep from smiling. "Damaged how, exactly?"

"A lightsaber strike. Or three."

"I might have surmised as much. What of them?"

Obi-Wan resisted fidgeting but still shuffled his left foot. "There is… a distinct possibility that the weapon was near full power at the time of the strikes, master."

" _How_  near?"

"Two ticks under, master."

Cin Drallig let out a deep sigh. "I see. I don't suppose you would know what irresponsible Jedi would have his saber set so high in the  _junior_ dojo, would you, Master Kenobi?" Cin turned to Ben.

"Either a prodigy or a suicidal maniac," Ben surmised. He shrugged. "But prodigies are not usually wont to slaughter defenseless walls."

Cin laughed. "Well said." He turned to Obi-Wan, who was blushing scarlet behind his diplomatic mask. "Very well, young Kenobi. Your offense has been duly noted. I will call up the repair droids and they will see to the carnage as soon as they can. In the meantime, I suppose your master expects me to give you a whipping for this?" Obi-Wan bit his lip. There was no safe way to answer that. Cin smiled at the boy's tact. "Lucky for me, I've got something far better in mind." He waved the boy further into the room and gestured to Ben. "Go three rounds with your uncle here, and I shall return you to your master."

Obi-Wan and Ben raised their eyebrows and looked at each other at the same time. Ben shrugged. Obi-Wan tried to hide his trepidation. He hadn't  _seen_ Ben fight before, but if the mischievous light in Master Drallig's eye was anything to go by, he must've been bloody good. Which was, in a roundabout sort of way, flattering. But, in the moment, mostly terrifying.

" _Low_ power, not training mode, if you please," Cin smirked. Yoda chuckled when Obi-Wan looked over to his instructor with betrayal in his eyes. "Serves you right," Cin shot back, finding a seat for himself and Master Yoda at the edge of the floor. "Begin when ready."

Obi-Wan ignited his saber first. Ben followed suit. A moment of hesitation, encouraging nods of the head to each other, and they began.

The first round was experimental, and neither of them was trying very hard to win; they were merely teasing out their differences. Obi-Wan was offensive, Ben defensive. Obi-Wan relied on speed and acrobatics, Ben was a reactive fighter, passive and reliant on deft footwork. Obi-Wan had a shorter reach than Ben, but he also had the energy of a sixteen year old. Ben, however, had the eye of a master and decades of experience on his side. The first match ended when Ben flicked Obi-Wan's defense out of the way and landed a soft burn on the apprentice's arm. Obi-Wan hissed, and Ben made no apology. Thus goaded, Obi-Wan fell to it in earnest.

Ben went easy on him. All masters did, at some point, learn the art of challenging a student without absolutely wiping the floor with them. Restraint was a Jedi virtue, and it was only by restraint of the master that the apprentice could learn to excel. Even so, Ben's restraint was so obvious, so easy and  _taunting_ that it only prompted Obi-Wan into a more ferocious attack. His defense was infuriating. It was so simple, but always  _there_. Oppressively offensive a form as Ataru was, Obi-Wan felt as though he should have some advantage. However, Ben's footwork was making it so that Obi-Wan was not pressing attack so much as he was being led around by a leash to whichever corner of the dojo most pleased his opponent's whims. "Careful," Ben even warned when Obi-Wan almost turned directly into his opponent's blade. The apprentice attempted a slash at Ben's thigh, which the master quickly redirected in a wide twirl so Obi-Wan's own saber nearly took of his nose. Ben laughed at him and, when Obi-Wan overshot his next downward slash, hit first the boy's hand and then his knee. Obi-Wan hissed in pain.

"Match," called Master Drallig from the sidelines.

Oh, now that just wasn't  _fair._

"Now you know how the wall feels," said a familiar baritone. The two Kenobis turned to see Qui-Gon leaning against the wall near Cin and Yoda. He smiled.

"Ready," Cin called their attention back. They turned to each other and raised their salutes, Ataru and Soresu. "Begin."

The last match was the longest. Ben's concentration was put off by Qui-Gon's sudden arrival, and Obi-Wan's frustration was, in a departure from habit, helping him to maintain focus. Ben still outmatched Obi-Wan a hundred to one, but the show of skill in the three minute window before Ben landed his touch was impressive. Obi-Wan leaping and diving, Ben dodging and rolling, employing some of the moves from his Sand Dune katas. At the very end, Obi-Wan unleashed a barrage of the most deadly Mikashi strikes he knew, and Ben matched them stroke for stroke without thinking. When Obi-Wan's repertoire ran out, Ben flicked his wrist and sent Obi-Wan's saber skittering across the ground. This time, he did not strike the boy, but did let him feel the heat of the saber millimeters under his chin.

"Solah," Obi-Wan said, breathing heavily. Ben retracted his saber and bowed. Obi-Wan retrieved his weapon and bowed back. "Thank you, Master Kenobi," he said stiffly. It was an odd sensation to be beaten so thoroughly by  _yourself._

Cin Drallig was beaming. "Fantastic! Well done, both of you." He exclaimed, and came to examine Obi-Wan's injuries. "Superficial," he decided upon seeing the singed skin. "Bacta's in the shower rooms. Off you go," He smacked the apprentice into a light trot. "Teach you to watch the power regulator next time," He called after the sweaty youth. Obi-Wan sighed out a tired breath as he went.

"Yes, Master."

"An impressive show indeed," Qui-Gon stepped forward, an unusually open expression of respect in his eyes. "I was unaware that you specialized in Soresu, Master Kenobi."

Ben shrugged, calling a handtowel from the neat stack by the door and wiping his face. "I've been known to favor it, yes."

"But Ataru as well," Master Drallig crossed his arms. "Your master must've had his hands full with that mix."

Ben chuckled, daring a glance at Qui-Gon's face. "My master specialized in Ataru, actually. I didn't begin studying Soresu until after he, uh… um…" He faltered, panting through the frequently-recited explanation and realizing too late that he'd said more than he should have. "I, uh… I didn't study Soresu until after I was knighted," He backpeddled, shrugging. "And then it was off to the Rim, and, well… here I am."

"Oh," Cin said, and frowned. "Who was your master?"

"I-uh," Ben stuttered again, realizing suddenly that he had no answer. How had the council's cover story missed  _that_ gaping hole in his fictional biography?

"Train this Kenobi  _I_ did, Master Drallig," Yoda stepped forward.

"Truly?" the master said, and scoffed good naturedly. "You really oughtn't keep  _all_ the talent in one family, masters," He admonished, smiling at Ben. "When Obi-Wan earns his stripes, your lineage will leave the rest of us completely in the dust." He bowed to the company. "Until then, I'll have to see if I can't find a droid to repair his negligence. A good night to you all, masters," he bid as he left the dojo floor.

"With you leave, Master Yoda," Ben said after a brief pause, feeling droplets of sweat run down his back, "I might go rinse off before evening meal."

"Of course. A privilege to watch you it was, Master Kenobi. Thank you."

Ben bowed deeply. "I reflect only my master's teachings, of course," He teased at their newest façade, but looked more meaningfully at Qui-Gon Jinn.

When Ben left for the showers, Yoda and Qui-Gon stood alone together in the dojo. "If I did not teach him Soresu," Qui-Gon wondered aloud, "who did?" Obi-Wan's words echoed in his head.  _Until after my master…_ until after he  _what?_ He did not like being around Ben, it was true. He liked it even less when Obi-Wan was around Ben for any great length of time. But that did not preclude him from being drawn in by the curiosity of his appearance.

"Hmm," Yoda's eyes roamed to the doorway through which Ben had left. "Mysterious, your former apprentice is." Qui-Gon glared with reactionary displeasure at the notion of 'former apprentice', but said nothing. "Understandably so. Time, the Force has given to us. Time, we will give him. Far more like you is he than you may think, Qui-Gon."

"Oh?"

"Stubborn, he is. Alone, he thinks himself to be, separate from the body of the Order, the Council."

Qui-Gon glanced down his nose at the older master, who chuckled. "True, you know this to be. Convince Ben Kenobi to share his insights with us, we  _must_. But first convince him that he  _can_ share his insights, we will."

"I'm not sure I understand, master," Qui-Gon admitted. Ben had seemed more or less at ease since those first few days had past. As far as Qui-Gon knew, he'd spent most of the subsequent weeks watering his plants, meditating, brewing tea, and reading. It was hardly the routine of a neurotic shut-in.

"Trust," Master Yoda elaborated. "Whether he can trust you, trust me, know this Master Kenobi does not. Needs support, he does, friends." It was an uncommon word to hear from the lips of a revered senior master, what with the scent of  _attachment_ intertwined with its meaning. Yoda used it without shame. "Alone has he come from the future. Return to tomorrow alone, he should not, for all of our sakes."

He made it sound so foreboding, Qui-Gon thought.

Yoda leaned on his gimmer stick as he walked away, eyes fixed straight ahead. "Important to the galaxy is your former apprentice. Important to the Order. Important to the  _Force._ But important to himself, he is not. Lack confidence, he does. Help him in this, you will."

"Me, master?"

"Hmmph. Abandon not your pupils," Yoda continued on the path while Qui-Gon stood and watched him go. "By turning away one, lose both, you may." Yoda turned, and glanced to where Obi-Wan was making his way out of the showers, tunic sticking to the places where he'd smeared bacta. "May the Force be with you, Master Jinn," Yoda bid.

Obi-Wan came up beside the taller man moments later, damp hair smelling of the plain soap stocked in the dojo showers. "Master, are you aright?" he asked, seeing Qui-Gon's troubled expression.

"Yes, of course," He said, and decided to change the topic of conversation. "Are you hungry, padawan?"

Obi-Wan smiled. "Always, master."

In times of doubt, the constancy of an adolescent appetite was bizarrely comforting. "Good. Let us endeavor to  _not_  burn any of the refectory walls."

 


	8. Emotions and Peace

Very,  _very_ early in the morning, someone began knocking at Ben Kenobi's apartment door.

He shuffled out of his bedchamber half-dressed, outer tunic wrapped sloppily over his chest, bare feet tangled in wrinkled trousers. His hair was tossed up in an untidy heap, sweaty tendrils clinging to his forehead. Coruscanti nights were far warmer than their freezing Tatooine equivalents, and Coruscanti days were far  _colder_  than Tatooine's deserts ever were. The double juxtaposition often saw Ben shuffling from his room every morning much the same as he did now: haggard, sweaty, huddling in his tunics for warmth. He answered the door.

"Hmm?" He said to whoever might be standing beyond he threshold.

"Oh, uh, I'm sorry Master," Obi-Wan Kenobi said, embarrassed to have roused his counterpart from what seemed to have been a very deep sleep.

"It's alright, padawan, I needed to get up," which was probably true. "Is there something I can help you with?" Ben leaned against the doorjam, blinking heavily.

"Yes, actually. My master mentioned before that you had sapir tea?"

Ben frowned. He hardly saw how this justified crossing the entire residential wing and waking up a Jedi master at… he glanced at his chrono. Half past fourth hour. He looked back at Obi-Wan. "I do," he affirmed, intoning it just curiously enough that the padawan shuffled and sighed.

"We've run out," he explained. "I've been busy with exams, and I forgot to buy more." Ben chuckled at this.

"Ah, empty tea coffers. A dire situation in the Jinn residence," he commented. Obi-Wan did not share his mirth. "Hells hath no fury like Qui-Gon Jinn without his tea."

"It's not that, Master. It's just, I've been making it for him every morning ever since…" he trailed off with a sigh. At length, he looked down and said quietly, "He's been doing better… I don't want him to regress again."

The humor slowly melted from Ben's eyes, and his mind whirled back through the years.  _Twenty-five aught twelve._ Of course. "Ah," he said eventually, voice softer now. "That was this year, wasn't it?" He asked. Obi-Wan nodded. "How many months ago?"

"Not quite four," the apprentice whispered. Ben nodded again to himself, and stepped aside. "Come in," He waved the boy inside his small apartment. "I'll get you some."

* * *

Obi-Wan was picking at the long green-leafed vines that dangled from the top of Ben's cooling unit while Ben filled a small bag with tea. "Careful," the master said, "That one is rather shy. Acknowledge it for too long and it won't grow for a week."

Obi-Wan frowned at him. "It's a  _plant_."

"And you are a human," was the immediate reply.

"Yes, which means I'm sentient,"

"Debatable," Ben smirked. Obi-Wan scoffed.

"This plant is  _not."_

"Your master has much to teach you yet," Ben smiled, and Obi-Wan glanced dubiously at the plant. Normally he would argue, but it was far too early to engage in a duel of wits, much less with himself. Ben folded up the bag of tea leaves and handed it to the apprentice. Obi-Wan took it and put it carefully into a belt pocket.

"Thank you."

"Of course," Ben studied Obi-Wan's mein. It was surprisingly difficult to read your own facial expressions, he thought. "How has he been doing?"

Obi-Wan glanced up, and shrugged after a moment's thought. "The mornings are the worst. Hence the tea."

"Mm. Yes, I remember," Ben stroked his beard. It was all a blur in his mind, the many months when Qui-Gon mourned the death his dear friend and love, Tahl. But he did remember the mornings, having to watch as his master withdrew in deep melancholy, sometimes in spite of the tea.

"Will he get better?" Obi-Wan asked him, eyes hopeful and adread. It was a good question. Ben wasn't sure if he was qualified to answer. He knew information about  _his_ future, of course, but now that he was  _here…_ well, things were bound to change, weren't they?

If he had anything to say about it, they would. But he felt like a hoarse newborn, still struggling to find his voice. And this was one future that he doubted he could touch. "The future is always in motion," he reminded his younger self, who bit his cheek and looked away contritely. Obi-Wan lingered in the kitchen, lifting a finger to the timid greenery as if in apology. Ben watched him keenly. "It is not unbecoming for a Jedi to express emotion, you know." Obi-Wan turned to look at him as if he'd let out an acrid Huttese curse. "The danger lies in letting those emotions control us. Letting them run their course is not only natural, it is the healthy way of things."

Obi-Wan looked skeptical. Ben folded his arms and added meaningfully, " _Suppressing_ emotions is just another way we grant them control over us. It is far better to let them out."

"To release them into the Force. Quietly," Obi-Wan insisted.

"Alone, in the dark, in denial. Yes, that reflects Jedi precepts just perfectly, doesn't it?" Ben prodded sarcastically.

Obi-Wan was frowning more deeply now. He pulled his hand away from the plant and began pinching his tunic sleeve. "There is no emotion, there is peace," He said. Ben did not smile.

"There is always emotion, and we must find our peace in midst of it," Ben countered.

"That is heresy," Obi-Wan flustered, aghast that his older self would believe such a thing.

"It is  _wisdom,"_ Ben corrected. He tried to remember when in his life he had discovered the original version of the Jedi code. It had been too late in life, he felt. "Watch your master in the days to come, Obi-Wan. See how – and if - he finds his peace.  _Then_ you may lecture me on sound doctrine."

Chastised, Obi-Wan clenched his hand and looked away. Ben glanced at the chrono. "He'll be awake soon. You'd best go. May the Force be with you."

"And also with you, master," Obi-Wan bowed. Ben watched him leave and sighed.

He was here to change things. Or so it seemed to be. It was a persistent but understated calling, unheard but profound in its effect. It was the heartbeat of his presence here, the hum of his own personal engine. Change things for the better. Employ his hard-earned wisdom for good. Bring balance to a world falling off-kilter. It was pure heresy, he thought, to think that he could change history, alter the will of the Force. But perhaps young or old, he had never quite grasped what heresy meant.

Ben forewent his morning ritual of tea and moved instead to his meditation cushion. It would be difficult to find peace in the midst of the whirlwind of emotions inside of him, but he knew it was possible. He'd mastered that wisdom in his solitary years, holed up with no company but that of his own torrid emotions. Perhaps now, in this reincarnate calling, the Force would turn another heresy into wisdom. Or so he could hope - and no matter what Obi-Wan believed about emotions, hope was the one that the Force loved most.

* * *

Qui-Gon could tell the moment the tea touched his lips that he was drinking from Master Kenobi's stash. He said nothing to Obi-Wan, but quietly wondered about it after his apprentice had inhaled his breakfast and left for classes. Had Ben given it to him? If so, why? Was this his way of expressing pity? Was it some bribe to try and get Qui-Gon to visit him for tea again? He bristled at the thought.

Later in the day, when he went to his tea cabinet for a mid-afternoon cup, he found that his sapir supply was empty and had been replaced by a small flimsi bag of Kenobi's stock of choice. Perhaps, he thought, he might have overthought the whole thing. "Oh," he said aloud.

* * *

Ben was watching the holonews Senate broadcast when the second visitor of the day came to call. "My, aren't we popular today," he said to his woosha plant, next to which he sat the holodisk. He rose with a sigh to answer the door, and sensed who was on the other side only soon enough to conceal his surprise.

"Master Jinn," He greeted. "Good afternoon."

Qui-Gon nodded. It was obvious that he was uncomfortable, but trying very hard not to be. "I believe this belongs to you," he said, extending a small pouch of sapir. Ben looked at it and then at Qui-Gon, and blinked rapidly in apparent shock. "Qui-Gon Jinn is attempting  _give up_ the finest variety of sapir this side of the rim," he said to the air, "what  _is_ the galaxy coming to?"

Qui-Gon glowered, and dropped his hand. "I will not steal from you, Master Ben."

"You cannot steal what is freely given."

"Given?" Qui-Gon raised his brows. "I was unaware you had free access to my kitchen cupboards."

"From a certain point of view, I do," Ben's eyes twinkled. "Your apprentice came by and asked for it this morning. And as you should know, I will never object to sharing good tea with friends."  _Friends._ It was such a subtle and stinging insinuation. Obi-Wan's wit was sharp and unbridled; Qui-Gon wondered idly when in his life Ben had developed into such a quiet firebrand.

"And why would he do that?" the taller man asked.

Ben shrugged. "He said that you had run out; that he was caught up in exams and had neglected to buy more. He was…  _adamant_ that he have some for this morning." When Qui-Gon glanced away, Ben knew that the sapir ritual was no mystery. He added quietly, "He's worried about you, you know."

"I know."

There was a moment's pause, and Obi-Wan stepped aside. "You may return the tea now under the sole condition that you help me drink it," the Negotiator proclaimed. Qui-Gon gave a small sigh and stepped inside.

"Very well."

The two went to the kitchen together, Ben putting on the kettle while Qui-Gon prepared the teapot. There was a surreal sort of familiarity in the way they shared the small space, moving around each other in a very old ritual. Both noticed. Neither mentioned it. As the kettle roasted, Qui-Gon regarded the dorva vine with a horticulturalist's eye. "Your friend looks a bit shy," he observed. Ben scoffed.

"Yes, well, it  _was_ doing rather well until this morning when your apprentice scared it back down again. Probably won't grow a millimeter for another week."

Qui-Gon chuckled. "Obi-Wan can have that effect." To Qui-Gon's surprise, Ben chuckled back.

"He'll learn eventually."

"Will he?"

Ben paused in his preparations. He'd been thinking a lot about change recently, meditating on the possibilities. He shrugged before he fell too deep into thought. "He did once," He surmised, "he can do it again - Force help him."

Once the tea was brewed, they moved to the main room and took the brew in silence, savoring the delicate aroma and warmth. Eventually, when their bowls were nearly dry, Ben spoke up. "Obi-Wan tells me it's been not quite four months."

Qui-Gon's face was unreadable as he gazed into his tea bowl. "Yes."

"I am sorry."

"There is nothing to apologize for," Qui-Gon insisted, face conspicuously trained to neutral.

"Empathy is not an apology, Qui-Gon."

"Empathy," Qui-Gon repeated, and shook his head. "With all due respect, Master Ben," he set aside his tea bowl, green dregs dotting the porcelain sides in bitter formations, "you do not have the right to have  _empathy_ in this matter."

"Don't I?"

"It is my loss. It is between me and the Force."

"And the council, which has given you a six month leave without having to specify why, and your apprentice, who will wake me at fourth hour so that he might bring you tea every morning, and every other Jedi in this temple who walks within ten metres of you, who can feel the grief falling in waves and says nothing." Ben watched Qui-Gon's face carefully. "Loss is never borne alone."

"But it is  _felt_ alone."

"Not in a vacuum."

Qui-Gon's jaw muscles bunched under his beard, betraying thinly veiled emotion. "What is your  _point,_ Ben?"

"My point is that if you are ever going to move past this grief, you must first move past yourself." Ben was having flashbacks to his teaching days. "Obi-Wan would be a good place to start." he poured his master another cup of tea. "He's grieving too, you know."

"He shouldn't," Qui-Gon snapped bitterly without thinking. "What was she to him?"

Ben gave him a withering look. "The Qui-Gon Jinn I knew was never so obtuse. You know very well what she was to him… to  _me._ Even if we never talked about it."

Qui-Gon took the fresh bowl with the minimal amount of grace required by civility. "Even so," He said quietly, not looking Ben in the eye. "It… is not the same."

"Of course not." Ben blew steam away from his second bowlful and took a sip. "You and Tahl were… close. I understand completely."

It took a moment for Qui-Gon to catch the implication. He regarded Ben with a suddenly sad expression. Even now, as things were settling around Ben's identity, Qui-Gon found he couldn't bring himself to treat Ben as though he were actually Obi-Wan. But despite it all, he did  _know,_ deep down, that it was so. That being the case, he hated to think… "Completely?"

Ben watched tealeaf shapes float in his bowl, drifting lazily about the bottom amid clear green. He swirled them, and the shapes changed. It was so easy. "I will not tell you her name, because if things go even remotely as they did last time you will meet her and I'd hate to sway your opinions." He did not look up from his tea. It was only years of practice that let him speak around his grief in an even tone of voice. "She was the only reason I ever doubted my calling as a Jedi. She was murdered by an old enemy of mine, purely to provoke me. I was forced to watch." The leaves in his tea bowl settled into an indistinct polygon and he set it carefully on the table before lifting his eyes. "So yes, completely."

Qui-Gon's expression of sadness was vague and profound. Eventually, he said, "I'm so sorry."

"Your empathy is appreciated, master." Qui-Gon shot him a look, and Ben gave a sad little smile. "It's not so hard, you see." They both sipped their tea in solemn silence. After he had drained his second helping, Ben said, "Obi-Wan does not understand. I hope he won't have to, in this life."

"You  _do_ intend to change things, then?" Qui-Gon inquired. He had been wondering – everyone had. When Ben said nothing to the contrary, the master tipped his eyebrows. "The council will want to know your plans, if you have any."

Ben sighed. It was irksome, having to involve the council. He had a horribly bad feeling about it. Telling the council what his future had looked like would only sway their beliefs about what their future  _could be_. They could not afford one seed of doubt, one iota of determinism. They were Jedi. Better to keep the damaging intelligence as limited as possible. No one needed to know – not the really terrible things, anyway. Not yet. Not until it was needed. Not until Ben was sure.

"Kriff the Council," he said, with feeling. Qui-Gon coughed around his tea. Once he recovered, he stared incredulously at Ben and the stubborn set of his jaw.

"Are you  _sure_ you are a Kenobi?" he asked. At that, Ben's eyes lit up and he gave his master an impish smile.

"As surely as  _you_ taught me everything I know, master."

Qui-Gon cocked an eyebrow. "And here you've been lecturing me on the value of community, the dangers of isolation. Did I teach you to be a hypocrite as well as a rebel?"

Obi-Wan's expression transformed into a scowl. "Caution is not hypocrisy."

"Fear is not grounds for caution."

"A Jedi does not fear."

"Then what?"

"Call it a  _feeling_."

"A bad one?"

"Very."

They each glared at the other in tense silence, the unfamiliar fetters of  _equals_ pulling at a disused bond. They gave up their staring contest around the same moment. "Your feelings have misled you before," Qui-Gon noted.

"Not in a long, long time," Obi-Wan said, taking no pride in the fact.

"What do you plan to change?"

"A great many things."

"Will you not tell anyone?"

Ben thought on this. "I will. When the Force prompts me to."

"Are you sure?" it was a warning. "I sense fear in you."

"A feeling," Ben corrected.

"A dark one."

Ben glared. "I do not answer to you, Master Jinn."

"You claim to have, once."

"Many,  _many_ years ago."

"Then if not as your master, then hear me as a  _friend,"_ Qui-Gon challenged. If that's what they were. "Tread carefully, Obi-Wan."

The sharp pluck of surprise that raced across the Force emanated from both of them. Obi-Wan's brows were up near his fringe, while Qui-Gon sat frozen in realization. In the silence, Qui-Gon's comlink chirped at him. He cleared his throat and answered it.

"Yes, padawan?"

" _Master,"_  came Obi-Wan's voice from the other end, blissfully unaware of the awkward conversation he was forestalling.  _"Mid-cycle exams are over, and Master Chartel wishes to know if you would be available to review my exam scores after evening meal tonight."_

"Yes, I believe I will."

" _Master…"_ Obi-Wan added somewhat reluctantly,  _"I feel I must warn you that my astronavigation results were... I am severely disappointed in myself, master,"_ he said with tactful regret.

"Very well, Obi-Wan."

"… _I'm sorry?"_ the apprentice said, obviously thinking he'd misheard.

"We may speak on it later. Tell master Chartel I will meet her at seventh bell."

"… _yes, master."_ The conversation ended anticlimactically, leaving the apprentice in confusion.

Qui-Gon stood and moved to leave. "Wait a moment," Ben stopped him, and Qui-Gon paused, waiting in irritation for the man to point out his slip, his acknowledgement of the strange reality he was not prepared to discuss. The moment did not come. Ben scratched out something on a slip of flimsi and pressed it into Qui-Gon's hand. "So Obi-Wan doesn't feel obliged to visit my tea cabinet at all hours."

Qui-Gon looked down at the neat script, which described an address some eight hundred levels below the surface of Coruscant. It was labeled 'The Best Sapir". His eyebrows shot up. "Dare I even wonder how you found this place?"

"Through  _you_ , of course."

Qui-Gon frowned. He'd never heard of it. Ben shrugged.

"You would have found it eventually. But if memory serves, it was under unnecessarily… messy circumstances." He shrugged. "I do not believe a preemptive recommendation is amiss." And yet it felt so… dangerous.

"Changing things," Qui-Gon accused.

"It's only proper to begin with tea."

Qui-Gon regarded him. "Thank you," he said after a moment, then added more seriously, "Do try to tell me beforehand, next time."  _Me, if not the Council,_ was the unspoken hint.

Obi-Wan gave a noncommittal nod. If the Force so prompted him.

* * *

"Something troubles you," Qui-Gon observed, taking an unhurried bite of his meal. Across from him, Obi-Wan was defying all precedent of sixteen year old human male behavior by picking at his food without eating it.

"Yes," he admitted.

A pregnant pause. "Would you like to talk about it?"

Obi-Wan sighed. He tilted his head one way, and then the other, and adjusted the tilt of his shoulders. He looked down at his bowl and took a breath, and Qui-Gon braced himself for impact. "Is emotion evil, master?"

It was not what Qui-Gon had been expecting. He'd been expecting some well-rehearsed defense of his abysmal grades in astronavigation, or questions about the complex diplomatic questions he'd had to answer in his exams, or even about his new saber katas.  _Feelings_ hadn't even occurred as an option. It took the master a moment to answer. "How do you mean?"

"I mean… the Code says 'There is no emotion, there is peace." So having emotions must be bad, mustn't it? Just like ignorance and passion and chaos and death."

" _Having_ emotions is neither good nor bad, Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon said.

"Yes, but we are taught from infancy to control our emotions, to hide them. Does this teaching not dictate that emotions themselves are a deficiency to overcome?"

Qui-Gon chewed and swallowed, using the time to gather his thoughts. "If they are a deficiency, then it is one that all Jedi have in common. Emotion affects us all."

"Then why do we ignore it?" Obi-Wan asked, frustrated.

"We do not ignore it. We confront our emotions, and release them into the Force."  _Alone,_ was the unspoken addendum.

"But is that even  _possible_?" Or was he just  _extra_ deficient? Four months now, days filled with meditation and mantras and weeks on end where he sought nothing but  _peace._ Yet his insides were more muddled than ever before. And now Ben had shown up, and  _nothing_ made sense. It was baffling enough that Ben was in Obi-Wan's life at all, but then he had to go and start spouting heresies _,_ for Force's sake, and had the gall to make them make  _sense._

"You have long dedicated your life to the Order, Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon reminded him with a masterly tone. "Surely even in your admittedly shortyears of learning, you can tell me what is possible through the Force."

The implication that it was  _he_ who was lacking did not go unrecognized. Obi-Wan set his fork down and sat back in his seat, crossing his arms petulantly. He did not answer Qui-Gon's prompt, half out of indecision, half out of spite. Qui-Gon finished his meal alone while Obi-Wan brooded. At length, he set his bowl aside and watched his apprentice with an expectant expression. Obi-Wan did not meet his eye.

"But why can't there be  _both?_ " the padawan asked eventually.

"Both what?"

"Emotion as well as the Force."

Qui-Gon's eyebrows raised in surprise at the departure from Obi-Wan's characteristic traditionalism. "One glance at the code could tell you that, Obi-Wan."

"One glance at the Code could tell me the letter of the Code, but it won't tell me  _why_."

"Emotion is a doorway to the Dark Side. You know this."

"A door opens both ways."

"Mind your thoughts, padawan," Qui-Gon reprimanded. "Indulging emotions is unhealthy for those of us sensitive to the movements of the Force, you know this."

" _Indulging,"_ Obi-Wan scoffed. What did that even mean? "Yes, because hiding them in the  _Dark_ where no one will see is far healthier than recognizing the fact that they exist, isn't it, Master?" It was a very intentional strike. Qui-Gon's aura flashed red in anger.

"That is  _enough,_ Padawan," He snapped. Obi-Wan bit down on his lip and glowered.

At this point, he would have normally scolded Obi-Wan's overly emotional tone of voice and sent him to run the Temple perimeter at least twice. But he knew that such a rebuke would only provoke this already heated debate. The master stood and cleared the table, taking Obi-Wan's untouched dinner and tossing it down the rubbish chute.

"I must go meet with Master Chartel.  _You_  will spend the evening meditating on the nature of emotion, and of your own weaknesses in this area."

Obi-Wan sulked, but managed to give an obedient "Yes, Master."

"We will discuss this –  _and_ your astronavigation exams – later."

Obi-Wan sulked harder, irritation and frustration bleeding across their training bond. Qui-Gon hardly noticed, because he was too preoccupied with his own feelings of anger and hurt. "Yes, Master," Obi-Wan said.

"Good," Qui-Gon claimed the final word. It sounded more childish than he would've liked.

After Qui-Gon had left, Obi-Wan stood and faced his designated meditation spot. He stopped before it and stared into space, taking only a few seconds to contemplate his next act of rebellion. He took up his cloak and abandoned his meditation pillow for the door.

Qui-Gon hadn't specified  _where_ he should meditate. He marched down the hall toward the lifts, trying to recall the exact sequence of Mace Windu's security passcode.

* * *

"I was wondering if I might find you here." Obi-Wan jumped at the voice. Ben Kenobi approached at a calm gait. "Apologies for startling you."

Obi-Wan had found his way back to the chamber where Ben had appeared weeks ago. Now cleared of rubble and sporting a large duracrete center where granite had once laid, the chamber was empty and clean save for Obi-Wan and his halo lamp. And Ben, of course.

"I'm meant to be meditating," Obi-Wan told his older self.

"Oh? What did you do this time?" Ben asked with a smile in his voice.

"I was… thinking about what you said this morning. About emotions. My master did not share your sympathies… I'm afraid I indulged my emotions a bit too much."

"Ah. Indulging emotions… it's not the same as letting them out, you know. It takes practice." Ben lowered himself to the cold stone floor, mimicking Obi-Wan's cross-legged posture. "But you agree with me?"

"I  _understand_ you. But I know that the Code says there is no emotion… and my Master says that…" Obi-Wan slouched. "Actually, I'm not sure I understand at all."

"Not to fear." The elder placated, his expression providing a foil of calm to Obi-Wan's confusion. "It wasn't something I learned in a day, of course. You won't either."

"Yes, Master," Obi-Wan said despondently from his hands. "I merely need to learn." Listen to Qui-Gon, that is, no matter how much he did not want to at the moment.

"Admittedly, your master is hardly one to teach on  _emotion_ these days," Ben said, picking up on the subtly. Despite himself, Obi-Wan leapt automatically to his master's defense. Qui-Gon was knowledgeable in all things; who was Ben to criticize? "Now hold on," Ben chuckled, easily sensing Obi-Wan's indignation through the thickly-layered Force in the temple depths. "I only mean that for the past four months he's been too compromised to think clearly on his own emotions, let alone yours."

Obi-Wan sighed and slouched again, shields falling down. It was the concession of someone who wanted to be defeated if only so that they could rest. "He never talks about it," he grumbled, and frowned more deeply, eyes shining with a hurt he didn't understand. "Why doesn't he  _talk_ about it? Why can't just…  _say it_?"

"Say what?" Ben asked patiently, drawing out the poison that had festered for far too long in his childhood.

"Say…" Obi-Wan wrestled with his tongue. "Say  _something._ Anything about her. Recognize that she's gone, and that it  _matters._ " Obi-Wan knew he was acting like a crecheling who couldn't control his emotions, but he didn't care. Ben waited while emotions tumbled out into the open air where they could be seen for what they were. "We have tea, and he says nothing, and we're on leave, and he says nothing, and I see Bant every day, and I can't say anything, because we don't talk about it, and I can't talk about it with him, and I try to release it into the Force, but every day, I just…" He heaved in a shaky breath, determined to not cry. "She's  _gone._ And it shouldn't affect me, not like it does him, but it… she… she was…" He struggled with that tormenting, elusive concept, a word that he'd never known.

"Mother," Ben said, voice weeping with nostalgia. "The word you're looking for is 'mother'."

Obi-Wan absorbed this quietly, heart cracking like glass. Eventually, he drew his knees up to his face and sniffed. He darted a hand to wipe at his eyes, and Ben did not comment. "You know," the master said after a while, reaching into a pocket. "I've been asked if I have any intentions of changing things from how I knew them in the future. And my answer has been that of course I will. I must. Why else would the Force bring me here?" He drew a small holocron from the folds of his cloak. "The Force has not allowed me to alter the fate of Tahl, though I sorely wish it had. I can, however, offer you a bit of wisdom that took me far, far too long to find when I needed it most." He handed Obi-Wan the holocron.

"What is it?"

"When you have released your emotions and calmed enough to focus, you may open it and find out."

Obi-Wan took the multi-sided piece and turned it over in his hand. "Thank you," He said, not sure what he was thanking the man for yet.

"Be patient with Qui-Gon," Ben encouraged. "He's only human, after all."

* * *

Obi-Wan returned to his quarters that night to receive a verbal whipping for writing inappropriately lazy (and snarky) answers on his astronavigation exam and also for his unbecoming emotions earlier that afternoon. He meditated with his master to very little effect, and went to his room with a bitter taste in his mouth. He left Ben's holocron on his desk and went to straight to sleep.

He woke up the next morning and, as always, brewed a pot of sapir tea (looked like Qui-Gon had bought more, thankfully) before Qui-Gon awoke. As had become their custom, they said nothing as Qui-Gon entered the room, nothing as Obi-Wan poured the tea, nothing as they drank and smelled the aroma that had once been shared amongst three, not two.

 _Release your emotions. It is the healthy way of things._ But what was the difference between indulgence and expression? Obi-Wan didn't know, but he ventured forth anyway. He would not allow this festering emotion to control him any longer. "Master?" he broke the silence.

"Yes?"

"I…" Obi-Wan fiddled with his tea bowl, unused to admitting weakness without prompting. "I miss her," He admitted hurriedly, and stiffened as though a physical blow would come next.

It took a moment, but eventually Qui-Gon sighed and said quietly, "I know, padawan." It was a small recognition, but an intense empathy was blooming between them, mingling slowly with the grief to turn its shade just slightly lighter. Obi-Wan did not realize that he felt at peace until later in the day, when he saw Ben's holocron on his desk. He levitated it to himself and carefully turned the hidden locks until it lay open. A small projection of a holobook page hovered mid-air. The title read:  _The Original Jedi Code._ The contents of the page was short and familiar; but entirely revolutionary.

_Emotion, yet peace._

_Ignorance, yet knowledge._

_Passion, yet serenity._

_Chaos, yet harmony._

_Death, yet the Force._

Below this, there was a note.

_The only evil that a Jedi must overcome is the inability to let go. The New Code forces us to let go; it is safer that way. Treading through life's experiences by the Old Code is a more dangerous path to tread, but I have found it infinitely more rewarding. It is the only reason that I am still alive. The Jedi Order will change, as will the Code, but the Force is constant. Trust it._

_\- O.W. Kenobi_

Obi-Wan's eyes stuck on the signature at the end, and was reminded suddenly that Ben understood him  _completely_. But… imperfectly. For surely, Ben had not had learned this when he was sixteen. Obi-Wan studied the lines of the Old Code one last time and ingrained it on his mind, thirsty to learn more. To trust the Force over the Code… it sounded like something Qui-Gon would say. Except now, for perhaps the first time, Obi-Wan truly understand what it meant.

He could feel something shifting in the Force, like tea leaves swirling in sapir. He and Ben were the same; but they were different, now, set upon different paths of their own making. It was impossible to see where the divergence would take them.

He had a good feeling about it.


	9. Active Duty

"Good. Again."

"Uuughhh," said Garen Muln, forsaking Jedi stoicism. He was only a learner, after all. With herculean effort, he assumed the opening stance of the Soresu kata once again. "Your uncle's a damn slavedriver, Obi," He panted at his classmate. Next to Garen, Obi-Wan was lunged forward in an identical stance, arms shaking, legs aching, trying very hard to ignore the bead of sweat that was tickling its way down his neck.

"Don't blame  _me_ ," which was of course a suggestion containing a whole manner existential conundrums. Nevertheless, "this was Master Drallig's doing."

"Padawan Farend, keep your arms straight. That's it," Ben's voice made its rounds around the assembly of junior apprentices as they began their umpteenth repetition of the kata. It wasn't a particularly difficult kata, but it was an incredibly long one. It was meant to build endurance, resilience. These were cornerstones of the third form, and thus, cornerstones of one of its more infamous lower-level excercises. Master practitioner that he was, Ben had made it look incredibly easy in his demonstration run earlier that morning. Now in the trenches, his young charges were beginning to learn the lesson of the kata through raw, painful experience.

"Well you were the one," Garen paused as the kata took them into a wide turn, and then resumed when he was back in earshot, "who made Master Drallig  _mad_."

"He wasn't  _mad,_ you gundark," Obi-Wan, usually eloquent, was gritting his teeth in an effort to keep himself from faltering. "He just had us spar."

"Yes, and  _you_ let him whip your ass so thoroughly that now," another brief turn, flip, slash, turn, back again. "They've made  _friends."_

"Stop blaming me!"

"I  _will_ blame you."

"Padawan Muln, Padawan Kenobi," Ben's voice materialized next to them and Garen tried to cover up his full-body flinch as a precursor to his next half-turn. "Soresu is a discipline of the  _body_ , not the tongue."

"The tongue is part of the body," quipped Obi-Wan before he could stop himself. The recently-appointed sabermaster seemed amused by this.

"So it is. If only the rest of your body were as fit as your tongue, you may yet be able to perform the kata correctly. Seeing as you are not lacking for energy to feed your tongue, I think you can easily handle another repetition."

Garen groaned loudly. Ben raised a brow.

"More to say, Padawan Muln?"

Oh, he had plenty to say. Most of it would get him put under censure. Or expelled. Or whatever they did to junior padawans who cursed at senior ranking Jedi masters as extensively and emphatically as Garen wished to. Eventually, he grit out a, "No, master."

"Good." Been had the audacity to smile at him before turning back to the head of the large dojo. He crossed his arms and watched his small squadron of padawans struggle through the second half of the kata. The second their feet hit the floor in the ending note of the dance, Ben raised his voice. "Again," He called. Groans echoed across the room, and Ben ignored them completely. Many of the padawans glared at him. He ignored this as well.

It was about two-thirds the way through this repetition that Grant Kellar collapsed from exhaustion. Ben went over and helped him move to the side of the dojo. Dozens of eyes followed them, and the master cast a look over his shoulder. "Keep going," He told the other students, who exchanged looks before continuing on with the kata. Within minutes, another padawan had fallen down, and another. Ben helped each of them to the edges of the room, where they rested and drank water. The master stayed closer to the group now, watching, waiting,  _expecting._ The apprentices who were still moving through the motions cast fervent looks at each other.

Oh, so  _that's_ how this was going to work.

"Damn it," hissed Garen to himself, drenched in sweat, "Damnit damnit damnit."

The other padawans were cracking too, groaning here, cursing there. One padawan 'collapsed' before he actually had to – Ben did not offer to help him to the side of the room, where he gorged himself on water.

No sooner had the remnant group stepped down on the final motion than had Ben opened his mouth. "Again."

Obi-Wan bit back a small cry as his arms turned to fire, lifting up for a one, two, three-striked motion, and down and back into a loop. Turn. Pivot toward his left, where Garen was doing the exact same-

_Thud._ Garen hissed in pain as his shoulder bore the brunt of his fall. Ben was there, now gentler than he'd been all morning. "Fantastic work, Padawan Muln," he praised quietly, "go rest. Padawan Hensa will get you some water."

Which was all well and good for Garen, but Obi-Wan was still moving (somehow) and still hurting. Only half a dozen or so padawans were left, and the dojo was silent save for the heavy breathing of those on the sidelines and the pained grunts of those still in the kata. Ben watched it all with a quiet eye.

"Again," he chorused, just as he had before. And they began again. A thud here, a thud there. Quiet encouragements. Panting. Obi-Wan couldn't have paid attention to it if he tried. The kata was too demanding, too punishing to pay attention to anything else now. These were such  _simple_ moves, he thought in aggravation. They were poses and turns that  _younglings_  knew. But they were arranged in a long, never-ending stream, repeated with merciless simplicity. One by one, each motion laid a stone brick upon his shoulders until he wondered how he'd not been crushed.

"Again," Ben said, though Obi-Wan wasn't sure from where. His eyes were closed now, focusing on his movements, his steps. Not his muscles, for they hurt too much to think about, or even his breathing, which had become a ragged, heavy background noise. There was the kata, and only the kata. Simple. Painful. Never-ending.

"Again."

Sweet Force, how long could he keep this up? How long could  _anyone_ keep this up? Obi-Wan would surely like to know how many repetitions Ben could keep up, or Qui-Gon, or Yoda. He felt himself stumble through the second half.

"Again."

Muscle memory served a Jedi well. Obi-Wan did not think about where he was putting his feet this time, how his arms moved. He did think about how surreal the numbness felt. He did think about how simple each step was, how evenly they panned out. He even thought that, for a moment, he could feel a tendril of  _something_ extending from the vastness of the Force toward him, making him see the aching of his body in a new, inconsequential light… but the tendril faded and suddenly, inexplicably, he was looking up at the ceiling from the flat of his back.

"Well done, Padawan Kenobi," Ben said quietly, offering a hand to help him sit up. Breathing heavily, Obi-Wan took it and groaned his way into a sitting position. Now in view of his surroundings, Obi-Wan realized with some surprise that he appeared to have been the last one standing. Following a gesture from Ben, the other padawans assembled into the center of the dojo once more; tired and drooping, some still panting from exhaustion. Obi-Wan remained seated, and more than one of his peers cast him impressed glances.

"You alright, Obi? Here." Garen handed his friend a cup of water and Obi-Wan thanked him breathlessly, downing it in one. After the apprentices settled, Ben commanded attention at the head of the group.

"You have long learned that Soresu is the form of defense. Many of you doubtless wish to study other forms with more offensive capabilities – a choice that is between you, the Force, and your master. However, all Jedi would do well to remember that Form III is also the form of endurance. And whether you are fighting in Niiman, or Ataru," He cast a look at Obi-Wan, "whether you are piloting a starship," a look at Garen, "Or crossing an inhospitable planet on foot, endurance is an integral part of the Jedi way. So whether you choose to study Soresu or another form, remember this kata and how it taught you your limits." He cast his eyes about the room and let them rest on Grant Kellar, who was hanging his head in embarrassment for being the weakest of their number. "And know that the only limits you take from this exercise are those which you set for yourself. This kata has illuminated your physical weaknesses; but the Force is a great ally. Armed with this knowledge and your discipline, you may yet surpass yourself." He bowed a short dip of finality to the group. "May the Force be with you all." The lesson was well-earned, and they were dismissed.

"Surpass Obi-Wan, maybe," teased the twi'lek padawan, Aren, with a good-natured smile. A few others chuckled at this, and nodded as they passed.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Obi-Wan wondered aloud as he struggled to his feet. Garen scoffed.

"Oh come on, Obi, even  _you_ aren't that humble."

Obi-Wan shrugged, wiping a sleeve over his sweaty face. "So I was the last one. So what? It wasn't by much, anyway. Still fell on my arse." When he drew his sleeve away from his face, Garen was staring at him oddly. He frowned. "What?"

"Obi… you  _do_ know that the last three katas were just you, right?"

Obi-Wan blinked at him. "What?" He'd had his eyes closed the whole time.

"The last three repetitions… you were the only one."

Obi-Wan blinked again. The only…  _really?_ Not knowing what to say, Obi-Wan paused for several long beats before saying lamely, "…Oh." Garen laughed and shook his head.

"That's so like you, Kenobi." He gave his friend a slap on the back. "Now for Force's sake, let's find some food."

Ben watched them leave the dojo side by side. A strange sensation was blooming in his chest, growing somewhere between pride and self-deprecation.

"Is it odd?" Mace Windu asked from behind. Ben turned to look at the Korun master. He really did enjoy snaking up on people, Ben thought. "Teaching yourself?"

Ben considered this, and shrugged. "It is far odder to think of him as being  _me_ than anything," he admitted at length. "I hardly remember being so young. But yes, I suppose, in many ways it is odd. He will not be like me."

"A shame," Mace said, and for a split second Ben thought he meant it in earnest. "I could've done with two time travelling sages cold-shouldering the council about now."

Ben gave the taller man a withering look, which was reciprocated by a challenge of  _tell me I'm wrong._ Ben could not pick up the gauntlet, so he sighed. "I have spoken my piece to you more than once, Mace Windu. I cannot reveal the future to the Council when I am unsure that that future will even come to pass."

"Has anything led you to believe it won't?"

"On the contrary."

"Then why will you not warn us?"

"I cannot meddle with time lightly. The less involved at this point, the better."

"The council does not deal lightly with anything – as your own alibi at  _being alive_ is a testament." Both Jedi took deep breaths and sighed. Mace shook his head. "I will not argue with you now. I've come on other business."

"And what other business of mine is there to you, Master Windu?" Ben had no way of admitting it to anyone who would understand, but he missed his old camaraderie with Mace. Interacting with the Master of the Order was profoundly different than interacting with the friend he'd once known. And more annoying.

"Plenty more every day, as it seems. Master Yoda seems to think that you're being wasted here at the Temple. Despite my severe misgivings, the council has decided to send you out on a diplomatic assignment."

Ben turned to face Mace fully. "A mission?" He asked, genuinely surprised. "Stars," he exclaimed, propping up arms akimbo, eyes wandering to space in thought. "You know, I haven't been on a proper  _mission_ in ages. I'm sure to ruin everything." He was used to this, downplaying his own abilities. He was not used to his friends agreeing with him.

"That's what I said," Mace drolled, and ignored the small flare of hurt that this elicited. "But Master Yoda believes that it will give you time to mull over your thoughts on the future of the galaxy while  _in_ the galaxy. Seems to think you've been  _lazing_ too much _."_

Ben snorted. Mace frowned, not understanding the joke. "If memory serves, this is your overly official way of summoning me for a briefing, is it not?"

"Of sorts. You can decline, if you'd like."

Mace wanted him to decline, but Ben felt that it may be time to dust off the Negotiator's mantle. "Not for the world, Master Windu," Ben smiled. "I look forward to it."

* * *

"Leaving?" Obi-Wan was either disappointed or severely envious. It was hard to tell the difference. "Where are you going?"

"I'm unsure as of yet, but they've warned me I'll leave shortly after the briefing, so this seemed as good a time as any." He tapped the woosha plant's blue ceramic pot affectionately. "Swamp plants are quite high-maintenance fellows."

"We shall look after as if our own," Qui-Gon said solemnly, taking the greenery from Ben's arms and placing it next to his own collection on the window ledge. Obi-Wan glanced at it in stern apprehension, as if one day one of the plants would finally replace him as Qui-Gon's most beloved charge. Ben fought back a smile at the thought.

"I was beginning to wonder if they would put you on active duty," Qui-Gon admitted as he came around the table to pour tea.

"Really?" Ben was surprised to hear it. "I'm shocked they considered it at all. I'm terribly out of practice." The unspoken  _but why_ drifted between Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon, but neither said anything aloud. "Being out on the field again will be very odd."

"It is unlikely they will send you alone."

"Oh, no, I wouldn't want them to," Ben agreed, sipping at his tea. "I'm quite fond of working with a partner."

"Oh?"

"I was, anyway," Ben shrugged, thinking back to his lonely existence on Tatooine and quickly shoving the memories back again. "It makes for better company, that's for sure." Qui-Gon. Anakin. Ahsoka. Even Quinlan. He'd never worked alone – he'd only died alone. "I shall never decry company."

"Unless they ask for after their fortune," Qui-Gon prodded the beast. Ben glared. Was  _everyone_ after him today? With an opinionated lecture on temporal meddling forming on his tongue, Ben opened his mouth. Mercifully, his comlink buzzed at that exact moment. He let out his breath and answered.

"Ben Kenobi."

" _Master Kenobi, the Council expects you in fifteen standard minutes,"_ the protocol droid burbled at him.

"Understood. Thank you." He put the comlink away.

"Cutting it a bit close, don't you think?" Teased Qui-Gon as Ben rose from his seat to leave.

"I learned from the very best," the master quipped back, which made Obi-Wan choke on his tea. "May the Force be with you, Master. Obi-Wan." Ben winked.

"May the Force be with you," the pair echoed, Obi-Wan while still choking.

* * *

It had been a long time since Ben had attended a council briefing. It had been an even longer time since he'd attended a council briefing where he wasn't expected to sit as a councilor. As he stepped into the chamber, he had to check himself so that he didn't take another step toward the seat he'd called his own for so many years. It was Saesee's seat now, just there, between Ki Adi and Yaddle. Despite himself, he smiled. He had never aspired to be on the council, but in some ways, he missed it. He'd missed everything about the Order. All of this.

There was another Jedi standing in the center of the room. A togruta, standing tall and regal, blue and white montrals shining like a crown in the midday light. She was a young knight, by the looks of it. She turned her head to look at Ben when he appeared.

"You're running late," Mace Windu accused, fingers steepled in a disapproving triangle. Ben smiled cheerily at him.

"I was in fact walking late, Master Windu. Deepest apologies."

Saesee Tinn ducked his head to hide his smile, and Mace glared. The knight beside Ben glanced at him in a mixed air of humor and horror. Master Yoda interrupted the joke by clearing his throat.

"Master Ben Kenobi, Knight Alara Dahn," the grandmaster said with gravitas. Thus introduced, the two Jedi shared a glance and bowed.

"A joint assignment the council has for you. Negotiations for the transfer of Rylothian refugees to the Republic Core."

"Refugees?" Alara asked, standing straighter now. "Has Ryloth been attacked, master?"

"Attacked, no. A harsh world, Ryloth is. Destroyed by heat storms, a great city has been. Homeless in the Mid Rim, thousands of twi'lek are."

Mace Windu folded his hands into his sleeves and explained, "Many of the city residents were killed in the storm. However, with a salvaged fleet, eighty thousand of them were able to make it as far as the Herdessa system,"

"Herdessa?" Ben broke in, head coming up in recognition. "On the Corellian Run? Is that not near the Arkanis sector?"

"Yes," Mace said, surprise evident in his voice. "You know the area, Master Kenobi?"

_Know_ it? "Yes," He said, as mildly as he could. "Yes, I'm quite familiar."

"Such knowledge will benefit the negotiations, I am sure," Ki Adi put in. "You have been tasked with securing safe passage for the Rylothian refugees from the planet Herdessa to resettlement facilities here in the Core."

"Has the Senate sent a representative to accompany us?" Alara asked. Master Windu shook his head.

"No. The Senate has already finalized a budget for a four-year resettlement program, it is the accommodations for the refugees that is still under negotiations. The Chancellor has requested Jedi intervention due to the… precarious nature of proceedings. The Republic has petitioned five core worlds of capable means to accept the refugees. However, only two of the worlds volunteered. The other three were coerced into the agreement the Senate. The Jedi Council and the Chancellor share concerns that, should the five systems not all be satisfied with the arrangements, the refugees could be placed in undue danger upon their arrival in the Core. Your job is to make sure that these worlds not only uphold their promises of sanctuary, but accept a reasonable number of the refugees so as not to overburden the other worlds."

Ben nodded slowly. Greed and obstinance were, as always, familiar territory. With a look reeking of disdain, he asked: "By any remote chance, does one of these reluctant hero worlds happen to be Kuat?"

"An apt deduction, Master Kenobi," replied Adi Gallia. "I'm afraid Kuat was the instigator in the resistance to the proposal. The Kuati gave a very vocal opposition in the Senate and have convinced Alsaka and Fedalle to follow their example."

Ben made his sigh sound as mild as he could muster. "And by an even more remote chance, does Damaera Thane still happen to represent Kuat in the Senate?"

Mace raised one eyebrow high in warning. "If by 'still' you mean after her election three months ago, then yes, Master Kenobi."

Ben glanced downward. It was hard enough to remember the political goings-on of an entire galaxy. Remembering the political goings-on of an entire galaxy as it had been forty years ago was damn near impossible. He really ought to be more careful. "Of course, Master."

"You have encountered Senator Thane before, Master Kenobi?" Alara asked, glancing to her new companion.

"Many years ago," He explained, and then with a glance at master Windu, added, "Before she ran for office. A sharp-tongued demagogue, if memory serves."

"Hmm, quite," master Yoda agreed, a mischievous glint in his eye. "The reason why appoint you to this mission we did, Master Kenobi. Fighting fire with fire, we must." Which earned a chagrined look from the council's appointed firefighter. "Learn much from Master Kenobi you will, Knight Dahn. Perhaps too much." Yoda chuckled at his own wit. The newly minted team glanced at each other, neither quite sure of what they saw.

"If there are no more questions, Masters?" Mace asked. Kenobi and Dahn glanced at each other, and then back to Mace, silent. The Master of the Order nodded. "I have uploaded the full dossier to your onboard databank as well as your datapads. Your ship is waiting for you in Dock 7. May the Force be with you."

* * *

It was the surrealist thing in the galaxy to be going out into the field once again. Outside the Temple. In the wide, wide galaxy. Before the War. Before the Sith. Before The Purge. Before everything. It was, in shortest of terms, terrifying. Ben hadn't been expecting that. Perhaps it was the will of the Force, then, that he ran into Qui-Gon Jinn before he reconvened with Alara at Dock 7.

"And here I thought they'd ship you off as soon as they were done scolding you for tardiness," the long-haired master smiled as he cross the mezzanine to fall into step alongside the ginger-haired Jedi.

"They did, actually. I'm on my way to the hanger now to meet my mission partner. Alara Dahn – do you know her?"

"Ah," Qui-Gon's brows raised. "An old prodigy of Master Tarelius, I believe." When Ben's face remained a blank slate of non-recognition, he added, "I don't suppose you ever knew him. He died about two years ago."

"Oh," Ben frowned. "I'm… sorry to hear that."

There was nothing else to say on the matter. "Where are you headed?" Qui-Gon asked instead.

"A diplomatic squabble. Apparently the Council thinks I'll make myself obnoxious enough to force Core world politicians to get along." His eyebrows twitched in chagrin. "They're probably right."

Qui-Gon couldn't help but to chuckle at that. The past weeks had seen an usual relationship sprouting between the two of them, fostered over tea and long walks between duties. It wasn't quite camaraderie, and it wasn't quite friendship. But it was important, so they tended it as best they could, like a high-maintenance plant. "I would expect nothing less of a Kenobi."

Ben smiled along with him. "I should hope not."

"Where are you headed, then?"

"Out along the Corellian Run, near the Rim. The Herdessa sector."

Qui-Gon pondered this. "You know, I don't believe I've been out that way for any length of time," he admitted. "Have you?"

"Ha!" The question itself was pure irony. "Oh, yes," Ben replied, age coming through in his voice and his smile. "Yes, quite a length of time. Herdessa isn't home, but it's close." Close and tempting. "It is very close."

Qui-Gon did not understand what he meant, and he did not ask, but he didn't need to. He was watching Ben carefully, the way lines stretched his face, how the invisible cogs were turning, tumbling as though Ben's mind as though behind a curtain. They did not share a mental bond as Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon did, but the master could still decipher the emotions rolling off his former student as a well-versed cryptologist. "I hope you find what you are looking for, Master Kenobi," He said encouragingly, and stopped so that Ben was a few feet away when he turned to look back, surprised by the guess. Qui-Gon bowed slightly. "May the Force be with you, Ben."

Ben's smile was heartfelt. They both knew that his roots with Qui-Gon ran far deeper than the reverse; but then, they both also knew that even young roots could grow strong with care. "And also with you, Master," Ben said, and bowed. He diverged toward the hanger bay with a fresh sense of calm.

* * *

When Qui-Gon returned to his quarters that evening, he found Obi-Wan strewn across the kitchen table, slaving over remedial astronavigation problems with a mood closely analogous to chilled molasses. He maneuvered around a demotivated limb or two and began tending to his plants.

"Pop quiz," He announced, which elicited a rotten scowl from his apprentice. "If you were to travel down the Corellian Run to the Herdessa Sector and cross over into the Outer Rim, which systems would you find in your most immediate vicinity?"

Obi-Wan thought on this, willing himself to not consult his maps. He was meant to be memorizing all of this tepid minutiae, after all. "Umm… Savareen and Arkanis, I think." He allowed himself a peek. "Yes, Savareen first, and then Arkanis, which is more populace." He hardly saw how this mattered. "Why do you ask, Master?"

"Oh, no reason," Qui-Gon said, gently lifting the leaves of Ben's woosha plant to water it. "Merely trying to dust off my memory. How are your studies coming along?"

Obi-Wan sighed heavily in reply, which needed no elaboration. Qui-Gon chuckled, secretly glad that he no longer had to pass exams. He gave Obi-Wan's braid a flick as he passed. "Patience, Padawan."

"Yes, Master."

While Qui-Gon sequestered himself in his bedchamber for a quiet evening in (no doubt reading, or meditating, or doing literally anything less obnoxious than memorizing sith-damned astronavigation charts) Obi-Wan poured over his homework. In keeping with his congealed mood, he was putting off the task at hand by any and all means possible. Presently, he was avoiding the unintelligibly tangled route map of Hutt Space by lingering on the Corellian Run into the Arkanis sector. It was a far busier sector that he would've expected for this part of the Rim. What was even out there? Milarian, Pii, Austan, Utaruun, Tatooine.

But what had ever come out of  _those_ places?

With another great sigh, Obi-Wan propped his face against his hand and mustered focus once more. The navigational horrors of Hutt Space awaited him.

 


	10. Impasse

Ben was occupied in the onboard 'fresher when he was struck with the sudden realization.

"That smug green  _bastard."_

Being in the 'fresher for this moment was probably for the best. It was the only truly private part of their ship, and it wouldn't have done for Alara to hear him slandering the name of their Grandmaster for seemingly no reason.

But it was, in point of fact, a very good reason, as far as Ben was concerned. Master Yoda was green, and he was going to be very smug about this, and he was a complete bastard for pulling the wool over Ben's eyes. It was Ben's own fault for letting him, of course. He'd been so excited to get back out on the field that he'd let go of his senses. True, being constantly mindful of the hazards of time travel did not come naturally to him (or anyone, he felt) but in retrospect, he really should have seen this coming.

They were forcing his hand. Ben had no doubt that this exact scenario with the Rylothian refugees had arisen during his previous life, but of course he and Qui-Gon had been on leave. He would not have ever even heard of the report. Doubtless, another Jedi team had been dispatched to deal with the matter, whether it had been Alara and another Jedi or another team entirely, there was no way for anyone to know anymore. Things had changed. Simply by being here and now, Ben Kenobi was altering history. And who was to say how things would play out? Obi-Wan's life had never been the predictable sort, and Ben expected no different from this iteration. Anything could happen. And he'd be the instigator. Not someone else. Not whoever else it had been in his past life.  _Him._ And he would have to work with Alara, and report to the council, and live forevermore in the knowledge that no matter how things turned out on this mission, he could no longer be certain of this thing, this sequence of events, this  _future._

It was a force-damned  _guilt-trip_  is what it was. A delayed gimmer stick strike to the kneecaps.

Sneaky kriffing underhanded  _bastard._

The 'fresher door slid open to reveal a ginger-topped glower not seen since the height of the Clone Wars. Ben returned to the copilot's seat and fell into it, hands folded into sleeves. Alara watched him with a quiet sense of confusion, obviously sensing his foul mood. He masked it for her sake. After a while, they entered a silent agreement to not speak of his frown.

"Are you sure you do not want the con, Master Kenobi?" Alara offered, differing to his seniority. Ben waved a dismissal.

"I assure you it's fine. I dislike piloting."

She shrugged. "Very well. Navicomp reports we have five standard hours left."

Ben only nodded. Even hyperspace had its limits. They'd been traveling for not quite six hours already, and had only spoken to confirm mission details. They'd both read the dossier through and through at least twice. But now the only thing between them and the vastness of space was a thin ship hull and an ocean of silence. But it wouldn't do to arrive as strangers. He crossed his ankle over his knee and leaned back.

"Have you ever been to Herdessa before, Master Dahn?" He asked. He noted her slight flinch of surprise at his use of 'master'. Ah, a new knight.

"No, master," oh, and he was just 'Master'. A  _very_ new knight. "But I have been to Ryloth."

"Oh? Whatever for?" He had to admit he was impressed; it was rare that the Jedi had reason to go out so far, especially as a padawan or fresh graduate.

"Training. I spent a year on Ryloth as a senior padawan - to polish my Ryl."

That made his eyebrows shoot up. "You're fluent in Ryl?" He didn't bother hiding his amazement this time. It was a notoriously difficult language to learn, let alone perfect.

" _Ka, sihse."_ She have him a smile that bespoke personal pride – and not misplaced, in this instance. True fluency in any remote language was a rare asset.

"Well," Ben said with a smile, "I certainly see why they've sent you on this mission. Which only leaves me to wonder why on earth they've saddled you with me."

"Master Yoda tells me that you are a diplomat," Alara offered.

Ben waved his hand. Well, he was. But surely, "all Jedi are diplomats, Master Dahn."

She looked vaguely uncomfortable, busying herself with checking fuel levels and flight paths. "Some… more so than others," She intoned. He glanced at her, and was unable to explain why there was a smirk tugging at his lips.

"Really?"

A ghost of unpleasant memory passed over her face. "Incredibly."

"Hmm," he thought on this, still smiling. He couldn't blame her. He'd hardly been a natural diplomat in his younger days. Well, he  _had_ been, in fact, but far more brash a sortthan he was now. "Master Yoda wants you to learn from me," He realized, recalling the grandmaster's words. "A bit impolite of him to say so. You are a full ranking knight, after all."

Alara shrugged and said, with well-practiced neutrality, "Master Yoda believes I was knighted too early."

Ben nodded slowly. He remembered what Qui-Gon had said about her master dying not too many years ago. He wondered if she'd been knighted in lieu of transferring her training for a few short years. "You were knighted when the Force willed it," he assured her. "Neither to early nor to late." She seemed surprised at the encouragement, but grateful. A pause passed between them, before Alara said:

"…I'm still a rubbish diplomat."

He laughed aloud, the feeling in his chest akin to something he'd felt before. He couldn't pinpoint it. "And I'm rubbish at speaking Ryl. So now we see why we were teamed together: we each have our roles as teacher and learner. Though if you really wish to learn about diplomacy, I must warn you, I have been marked by a penchant for unconventional tactics."

Togruta did not have eyebrows, but the left side of Alara's white forehead drew up in a similar effect. "Aggressive negotiations?" She surmised. Ben laughed freely, and there was that burn of intangible familiarity again.

"Exactly so, Master Dahn. Exactly so."

* * *

Their landing at Herdessa was uneventful, but as soon as they lowered the ramp, they were overwhelmed by activity. Apparently the Jedi had not arrived a moment to soon; the senators' arguments had reached fever peak and the patience of the Herdessan administration was wearing exceptionally thin.

"Senator Irimore," Ben was the first one to the landing dock. "It is good to see you."

"I cannot echo the sentiment more heartily, Master Jedi." Ben gave a customary bow.

"I am Ben Kenobi, and this is Master Alara Dahn." They exchanged formalities, and the young senator waved them to follow her before taking off at a brisk pace.

"Senators and ambassadors from the receiving systems are shut up in the senate chamber, and I'm astonished security hasn't been called yet," She told the two Jedi. "I can't tell you how grateful I am that you're here to clear this all up. I've tried reasoning with them, but Senator Thane blames me for the burden placed on Kuat and hears nothing I say. I was one of the ones who approved the five-world plan."

"I don't suppose Senator Thane has been the sole incendiary in all of this?" Ben asked, already suspecting the answer.

"Unfortunately, no. Her refusal to back down has inspired senators Tardaak and Mii – Alsaka and Fedalle – to filibuster."

"That can hardly be good," Alara chimed in.

"Hardly is a mild word." The senator cast worried eyes upward toward the sky just before they stepped inside. "Most of the refugees are still in orbit above the atmosphere. They haven't been registered with the Republic yet, so legally we cannot house them on-planet so long as their ships' life support systems are still running, which they are."

Ben frowned. "I was led to believe that the ships were damaged in their escape?"

"They were. Most of the navigational systems and hyperdrives are more or less useless at this point, but the ships are livable for the moment. Satellite housing. But it's only a matter of time before they start to shut down. We were able to process a few hundred of the twi'lek to stay here, including the mayor of the Ryloth city, but we just don't have the resources to take in any of them – let alone all of them, all at once – until the bill is signed by all five senators." They turned a corner and the dull echoes of argument could be heard rippling across the Force. Alara and Ben shared a look.

Senator Irimore sighed heavily. "I'm afraid that if the debate wears on any longer, the ships may shut down entirely and we'll have pandemonium trying to take in eighty-thousand twi'lek while keeping the ships from plummeting to the surface. And that's just to save lives – the fallout will be a bureaucratic nightmare in the immigration office, and is sure to have Orbit Security locked down for months. I've already got half a dozen caucuses and a whole army of lobbyist and protestors breathing down my neck. This is no longer a squabble between core worlds; this is a triage situation for refugees  _and_ Herdessa. We need to get those ships on the ground, the twi'lek registered, and out of our orbit."

They'd arrived at the Senate chamber doors. Irimore turned to the two Jedi. "Taking in Outer Rim peoples takes a lot of paperwork; taking in eighty-thousand of them is hellish. I can see why they're arguing… but it has to stop. For the twi'leks' sake and ours. Please, Masters, work quickly."

"We shall do our very best, Senator." Ben bowed, and stepped forward to the door panel.

Alara followed him and remembered to walk beside him, not behind, only as the senators' attentions began to attach to the cloak-clad newcomers as they strode into the room. The hall fell silent. One senator, whom Ben recognized as a very young Damaera Thane, scoffed at the sight of them.

"Master Jedi," someone else said. Ben's heart wrenched off its hinges, beating a whirl as he turned to look. From a seat by the door, a young man in a senator's robes rose to his feet, looking relieved. "It is very good to see you here at last."

Ben was suddenly fighting back tears.  _Two worlds volunteered_. Oh, he should have known. He had seen on the dossier that one had been Alderaan, but he had thought it was too early in history to expect this man and his heart of gold. He was so glad to be wrong. Smiling, Ben swallowed his emotion and mustered the most sincere, even tone he could manage. "It is good to see you as well, Senator Organa."

Despite Ben's hastily thrown up shields, Alara could sense his intense feeling. She glanced at him, curious, but he only shook his head and turned back to the others in the room. "Senators," he greeted, bowing slightly, "I am Jedi Master Ben Kenobi, and this is Master Alara Dahn. We have been sent to expedite the negotiations over the refugee resettlement bill."

"Outrageous!" Burst Senator Thane, slamming a hand on the arm of her chair and rising to her feet. "The Senate has already coerced Kuat and her people into an unjustified 'agreement' – now they plan to force the rest of it down our throats at sabertip?"

Alara bristled and opened her mouth to release a sharp retort, but Ben held out a hand to stay her aggression. "My deepest apologies, Senator. We are merely following orders, and have no personal quarrel with Kuat. We are here to assist you," he used his most honeyed voice and willed his eyes to look as big as possible. All his life, Obi-Wan would deny any claims that he was anything special to look at; but beneath his self-depreciating words, he was fully aware that other people, particularly women, could find him a bit… disarming. It was a boon to be young again, and not just for the joints. He gave Thane a guileless smile. "Surely you cannot  _want_ negotiations to drag on. I understand you have all been here some time." A few quiet grumbles from around the room. Thane looked a bit lost, too caught up in attack mode to process an  _apology._ She jut out her chin.

"Drag on, no, come to an agreeable conclusion, yes. But I assure you, Master Kenobi, everything the senate – and its dogsbodies-" she glanced at Bail, and the senator beside him. "-have suggested thus far leaves much to be desired."

Ben nodded, upholding his air of charm. "I see. If you would enlighten us, senator?"

Thane fixed Senator Organa with a stony glare. "It has been suggested," she explained, "That Kuat take in no less than twenty-five thousand of the refugees. A number far in excess of the one-fifth share we agreed to on Coruscant."

"Numbers were not part of the discussion, Master Jedi" Bail corrected his colleague, "which is why we have convened here, to finalize the division of the refugees as recommended by the Chancellor's Committee."

"Kuat will not accept such an unfair burden on its people," Thane spoke more loudly to reclaim the conversation. "Kuat did not  _volunteer_ for this role. If Alderaan is so ready to take in refugees, why not take the lion's share?" Ben glanced between her and Bail. He weighed his words.

"I understand that Kuat is by far the largest world involved in this agreement, and has arguably the strongest economies of the five. Why is it surprising that the Republic should ask Kuat to take in such a number?"

"It is not unreasonable," said the senator seated next to Bail, a short, dark skinned man with his desire to resolve this mess written all over his face. "The proposed allotments were made on a percentage scale, taking into consideration the available space and resources immediately available on each planet. Kuat is, as you have said, Master Kenobi, the largest and most well-resourced of the five.

"Perhaps not after these refugees take over our capitol," Thane spat.

"And what of Alsaka?" Cut in the thin voice of Senator Tardaak, "We have half the resources of Kuat, and are still being forced to take in fifteen thousand refugees through our capitol city. It will unbalance the entire region!"

Bail Organa shook his head. "Senator Thothili's point still stands," He nodded at the senator to his side, "the Republic has taken all of these factors into account in calculating the proportional amount of refugees to be taken in by each world. You cannot tell me that you are in the same plight as Kuat, Tardaak."

Tardaak sputtered, and Mii from Fedalle spoke up instead, elaborate gold headdress tapping against her cheeks. "The Republic's cursory glances at our economies cannot represent the realities facing our people today," She insisted with well-rehearsed vehemence. "If Fedalle is forced to resettle the proposed ten thousand twi'lek in our administrative capitol, there will be mayhem. They cannot speak Basic, they do not understand our ways, they cannot pay for housing or food; it will ruin us."

Thothili rejoined the conversation. "The Republic will give full financial reimbursement to all five worlds who take in refugees," His tone suggested that he'd said this five or six times already. "Your concerns over money are baseless."

"It is not merely  _money_ that worries me, Senator," Thane snarled, chin poised high, "It is our way of life, our  _culture_ that stands to ruin. I will not allow a fleet full of illiterate offworlders to upset centuries of Kuati culture."

"May I remind you, Senator Thane, that the Kuati culture itself is based on the accomplishments of a fleet full of human immigrants," Alara could restrain herself no longer. "If you truly hold your world's culture in so high esteem, you ought to welcome such an echo to your revered history."

Thane regarded her with contempt. "I suppose  _you_  would support such an upset, Mistress Jedi. Your tail-headed brethren must have _your_ highest esteem."

Alara's eyes widened at the unexpected slur, and Ben's face erupted in a snarl. "Senator Thane, I would advise you to watch your tongue," he snapped, stepping slightly in front of Alara to prevent her from retaliating. "Continue on such a line and I will be forced to file a formal charge against you for sentient rights violation."

"Yes," Thane didn't miss a beat, "And it will be lost in the administrative labyrinth of Coruscant for months, maybe years, and by the time you've swatted my knuckles, some other world – far more  _philanthropic,_ I'm sure – will have already volunteered to bow themselves to the Republic's unlawful demands." She glared. "I stand by my words, Master Kenobi."

"You speak for your whole world," Alara said, audibly fighting off anger. "Do you hold no respect for your electorate?"

"I hold every respect for them," Thane replied, serene and cutting. "And they harbor no good will for the Republic's demands."

"I'd speak to them myself," Alara hissed. Ben put a hand on her arm quietly.

"I call for a motion to recess," Bail Organa said, eyebrows high in exasperation.

"Seconded," Thothili said immediately. "All in favor?"

"Aye," Said Bail, Thothili, and Tardaak. Thane glared at her ally, who shrunk back, realizing his mistake.

The senators filed out of the chambers. Ben stayed standing close to Alara, who fumed.

"It may be better to send them somewhere else," Alara glared daggers as Thane left the room. "Even  _if_ she signed the bill… can you imagine what the Kuati will do to the Twi'lek once they arrive?"

It was a fair point. "Yes…" Ben rubbed at his beard, musing. Still. He gave Alara a masterly look. "Do not let your anger unbalance you. What she said was completely uncalled for. But we are Jedi. We do not get _snippish_."

Alara nodded, taking deep centering breaths. "Yes, Master Kenobi." He was right, after all.

Ben shrugged. "Not  _yet,_ anyway." Which made her smile a tiny bit.

"Masters," Bail Organa was approaching, and Ben felt his heart constrict again. Alara was too preoccupied to comment. Bail let out a breath, at a loss for eloquence. "It is a mess," he said, shrugging helplessly.

"To say nothing of the twi'leks' precarious situation in orbit," Ben added. The droop in Bail's shoulders steepened.

"It's bad enough in here, I haven't heard anything of them recently. Are the ships still all right?"

"Functioning, yes, but failing," Alara told him, folding hands into sleeves. Bail rubbed at his eyes. She wondered if he'd slept recently. He glanced out the windows as if he could see the ships from here, but of course there was only blue sky and clouds.

If Alara had known Ben any better than she did, and if Bail had been able to call upon the memories of his older, alternate-dimension self, one of the two would have been able to identify the brooding furrow in Ben's brow, the pensive way in which he stroked his beard, the dangerous angle of his squint. If either had known to look for any of these things, and one of them would have given him a cautious look and said something along the lines of:  _"Oh no."_

But by the will of the Force, neither was familiar with Ben, and neither humans nor togruta had the ability to smell trickery on man, so neither Bail nor Alara recognized it when The Negotiator began to unfold his bag of tricks and select a volatile gambit. Ben let go of his beard and crossed his arms, legs assuming a lax soldier's pose. "Clearly Thane and her retinue have no intention of relenting until they've brushed this whole thing under someone else rug. If we want to resolve this once and for all _,_ we have to get them to sign the bill  _now._ "

"Which they will not do," Bail reassured. Ben nodded.

"Not willingly, no," he said, with careful emphasis. Alara frowned at him, almost warningly.

"What are you suggesting, Master Kenobi?" Bail asked. Ben shrugged mildly.

"I'm suggesting that we are going to have to be very….  _Persuasive_."

 _Aggressive negotiations?_ Alara couldn't believe they'd jumped to this point already. Granted, she'd been warned, but she found herself surprised at Ben's tenacity. She rested her hand on her lightsaber hilt, ready for the proposed fight. Ben saw the gesture and scoffed.

"Oh come now," he gave her a disappointed look. "No need to be uncivilized. I said  _persuasive._ "

"What do you think Thothili and I have been doing for the past week, Master Kenobi?" Bail challenged. Ben was unfazed.

"Attempting to be persuasive, and admirably so, Senator Organa. However, I believe you will find that politicians such as Thane only respond to more…  _substantial_  forms of argument."

"I take it you have a plan, then?"

"I do. But first… what do you think of the fact that the Rylothian ships above our heads have just plummeted out of the sky?"

"What?" Bail was alarmed. "You said they were still livable – did something happen?" He cursed. "I knew this would happen.

"Oh good," Said Ben mildly, "You weren't surprised." He gave Bail's shoulder a reassuring pat. "Have no fear, senator, the refugees are quite safe. But if you believed it were possible, so will Thane."

"Master?" Alara asked, really wishing she knew what Ben was about to get them into. He was rubbing his beard again, a glint in his eye.

"We have come to an impasse; trapped between an unstoppable foe and an inevitable catastrophe. The Rylothian ships are the key. They are a ticking time bomb; Thane knows this. So long as the threat of a dying fleet looms above Herdessa, Thane knows that we are duty-bound to make these negotiations go as quickly as possible. She's made it into a game of waiting for us to give in."

"And so far it's going rather well for her," Said Bail, dark circles under his eyes. Alara had her gaze fixed on Kenobi. What was he up to?

"So we are lead to believe. However, we can use the ships to turn the negotiations to our favor."

"How so?" Alara asked.

"It's quite simple. We shoot them down."

"W- _what?"_ Bail gasped. Alara's look was incredulous to the extreme.

"Master Kenobi, I really must object…"

"Now, just listen a moment," Ben placated, a steady hand out to stay their protests. "We are very quickly running out of options. We have three senators who refuse to see reason. We have days or hours before the systems on those ships shut down completely and send a whole fleet burning to the planet surface." He looked into their faces to see if they would contest any of these facts; they did not. He continued. "The fleet's immanent disaster is Thane's checkmate, and it is one we cannot escape through rhetoric. But if we ensure that the disaster happens  _on our terms,_ her trump card becomes our advantage."

"You're saying that we should  _intentionally_  crash the refugees' ships to pressure Thane and the rest to sign the bill?" Alara asked dubiously.

"Put in crude and simple terms…" Ben said, nodding, "Yes."

Bail and Alara shared a look, an unspoken conversation passing between them _. Is he crazy?_  Bail's eyes asked. Alara shrugged with her forehead. Bail bit the inside of his lip, and Alara sighed in sympathy. After a moment, the two young people turned to look at the elder, shorter man. Bail slowly, almost reluctantly crossed his arms.

"I'm listening," he said. Ben's dimples shone.


	11. Victory and Mutiny

Alara stepped off the ramp and was greeted by Ben Kenobi, who held two half-wrapped flatbread confections, one of which he extended toward her. She took it and they strode side by side across the landing pad toward the Herdessan senate building.

Alara was tall even by togrutan standards, and set side by side with Ben she dwarfed her companion, the top of his hair only reaching up to her nose. With the added drama of her montrals and lekku, Alara Dahn made Ben Kenobi look painfully ordinary, so much so that he could have easily faded into the background without anyone noticing. It was a peculiar sight, then, to see how the taller Jedi cast glances in Ben's direction almost constantly, deferring to his authority and waiting for his word. Now especially, Alara silently willed him to explain. This was all _his_ plan, after all. Ben chewed unhurriedly on his lunch. When her unspoken questions went unanswered, she unwrapped her lunch and said,

"Are you sure that this will work, Master Kenobi? The _Zalada_ 's captain seemed skeptical."

Ben had been waiting for her to ask, and answered easily: "She ought to be grateful. Her ship is dying; we've given her a schedule for evacuation."

"And all the chaos that brings."

"Better chaos than disaster."

"True…" Alara intoned with a familiarly impatient but disciplined pause that Ben waited out expressionlessly. "…but will it _work?"_

Ben shrugged with the nonchalance of a man who'd grown accustomed to catnapping in active warzones. "I trust the Force and my instincts, Alara," He brushed the remnants of his lunch from his beard and tabards, tossing the wrapper into a rubbish chute. "It will work." _Hopefully._ He gestured toward her street fare. "You may want to eat quickly. Thane and her glorified lackeys will be wanting to resume negotiations, and if our plan is going to go ahead we can't abandon Senator Organa to face them alone."

Alara nodded and bit into her food with gusto, natural togrutan beauty quickly besmirched by a blot of snoruuk sauce on her chin. When she eventually noticed this, she wiped it off with her thumb, and then, caught by various constraints of propriety, discretely onto the interior of her cloak sleeve. Ben hid his smile and affected not to notice.

"You know Senator Organa," Alara said, diverting attention from her savage eating habits.

"Not exactly," he weighed his words, unsure of how to cover up his odd history. "I am familiar with the Organa family. Bail and I have never met, but know _of_ him quite well. He is a good man."

"He is a politician," Alara accused through a cheekfull of deli nerf. "I thought they only went into business for wealth and power."

Ben couldn't blame her. He'd never found reason to believe any differently until he'd met Bail – and Padme. "The House of Organa is a prestigious and powerful entity on Alderaan. If Bail was after wealth and power, he would hardly have to look beyond his own birthright."

Alara chewed on her snoruuk cud thoughtfully. Ben waited for her to finish her sandwich before he said, "In my experience, career politicians enter the galactic senate for one of four reasons. Power, money and fame – and all the benefits that accompany them – are the obvious three of the four, and by far the most prevalent. It is rare indeed to meet any politician who does not dabble in at least one."

"And the forth, master?"

"The fourth is a rare motive indeed, one I have seen in only a small handful of people over the years." He smiled as he said, "A sincere desire to do good. Bail Prestor Organa is one of the few souls I know who is a purebred of the fourth variety."

"I thought you said you did not know him, Master Kenobi."

Ben glanced at her. "You have something, just here," He gestured vaguely to his cheek. Alara's white markings turned pink and she wiped hastily at her stained mouth. Ben chose this moment to quicken his pace. "Come along, then, mustn't keep the krayt dragons waiting."

* * *

Bail Organa was sweating like a wampa on Jakku when the Jedi found him in the offices lent to him and his retinue during his stay.

"Masters," he said, hastily wiping his forehead and palms. "Is everything in place?"

"Yes. Master Dahn has briefed the captain and crew of the _Zalada_ on our plan, and they await her signal."

"The _Zalada?"_ Bail frowned. "Is that not one of the largest ships in the fleet?"

"It is also the most severely damaged,"

"-by a matter of nanometers," Alara interrupted, sotto voce. Ben ignored her.

"Pre-emptive action on our part is likely to avert a far worse crisis. Better we control the crash than respond too late." This risky modus operandi was one that Ben was accustomed to, and truth be told, he had long forgotten how unconventional his methods really were. Anakin had never really been the naysaying type when it came to hare-brained plans. Having to placate his young companions' fears was as novel as it was tiring. "It will work, Senator," Ben said, with the slightest of force suggestions behind it.

"Yes, yes," the senator nodded, reassuring himself. "And the evacuation shuttles?"

"All crew standing by on the informed recommendation of their senior engineer," Ben explained passively. Bail did not miss a beat.

"Who in turn took an informed recommendation from _you,_ I assume."

Alara and Ben shared a look, wherein Alara's eyes glowered below stern white brows while Ben's face exuded pure innocence. Mind tricks _were_ recommendations, after all. From a certain point of view. "Exactly so, Senator."

Bail nodded, and wiped his palms on breeches again, and dabbed at his forehead. "This will work," He echoed Ben's assurances aloud, as if to convince himself. "Even Thane isn't so heartless."

"Oh, I do not doubt that she is heartless in this matter," Ben said, shifting his weight to one foot in a casual lean against the wall. "I do, however, doubt that she is willing to commit political suicide." Both Bail and Alara seemed nonplussed. Ben paused and regarded Bail with a careful look. "Senator, how long have you sat in office?"

Bail's face remained impassive, but he did blush softly. "About six months now, Master Kenobi."

Ben smiled in an inexplicable wave of pride; no matter the past he'd always miss, it was a privilege to be a part of this man's beginnings. "And already changing worlds," Ben smiled, which made Bail blush a bit less softly. The master pressed on, "Still, you may not yet have heard all the darker gossip from Kuat." He paused for a beat, gathering the details from his dusty memories. "Damaera Thane, dauntless as she may be in the senate, sports a rocky history with Kuat's local affairs. She's quite the elitist, as you might've gathered, and in her younger days she was even less tactful with her crusades. You can look up the minutes of the Triton Realty lawsuit or the Dantooine immigration trials. They make for very… entertaining afternoon reads, if memory serves." But they were short on time, and there was no time for the juicy details. "Suffice to say: Kuat's executive officers may back Thane's newfound status, but there is no small number of councilmembers on Kuat who would like to knock her back into place – and out of the Galactic Senate. We can leverage her situation to our advantage."

Bail was watching him through a slight squint. "You do not play politics in half measures, do you, master Kenobi?"

"I find it only slows me down," Ben replied, characteristic cheek reflective of Bail's poorly veiled grin.

Alara crossed her arms. Truth be told, she admired Ben's fast and hard approach to diplomatics; but diving headlong into such brash behavior put Alara far out of her depth, and she grasped at rationalization. "And what if she remains unfazed? Will we go through with our plan?"

"If it comes to it, yes. But I highly doubt that will be the case. Senator Organa will not be the only one prodding the beast. While you were in the _Zalada,_ Master Dahn, I took the liberty of reviewing some of Senator Thane's history. To date, she has never worked under Jedi supervision. She and I both know that it would look particularly bad if her first Jedi report to reflected badly on her suitability for office. …Don't look at me like that. It wouldn't be a lie."

Alara tipped her head in concession. "Very well," She said eventually, still wondering in the back of her mind if letting Ben take the lead was all a grand mistake. Trust the Force. Trust the Force. She reached out to center herself in its calming depths, which superseded all conflicting emotion. Amid the comfort she was so confident in finding, she felt something else, something rising, churning not too far away… she could not pinpoint its meaning, and let it roll past her.

The trio fell into silence as Alara fell into light meditation. Ben reviewed a few details on his datapad while Bail Organa sighed repeatedly - a coping mechanism.

A protocol droid came to fetch them. "Ready, senator?" Alara asked. Bail sighed once again, this time with a hint of determination.

"I suppose I must be."

Ben walked between the two as they approached the senate chamber. "Have courage, Bail," Ben gave the young man's shoulder a light squeeze. Bail would not mention it how it surprised him when Ben used his first name; he would not even realize that the calm he felt was because Ben spoke to him like his own father might have.

Thane was glaring at them before they even opened the doors.

"Senators," Ben was the only one who could smile in the face of their welcoming party. "Shall we?"

The debate floor was officially opened.

"We will not relinquish to your terms," Thane gave her steely-eyed salute. Bail Organa sighed, eyes glinting with a determination and quiet fire that would make him infamous in the decades to come.

"We shall see."

Ben and Alara shared a look, folded their arms into their sleeves, and waited.

* * *

It took two hours, forty seven minutes, and eleven seconds. Alara had her hand wrapped around her comlink for the last thirty four and a half minutes of their wait.

"-if we were discussing a resettlement program that involved the entire _planet,_ this would hardly be a discussion. Alsaka already has programs in place to accept as many immigrants-" Senator Tardaak was babbling, as he had been for… how long had he been speaking? Alara was embarrassed to realize she could not remember. In her defense, his cadence of speech was hard to _not_ tune out.

Luckily Senator Thothili had been listening, and cut in dryly, "The slums, you mean?"

Tardaak ignored him. "-but we are not talking about the _planet,_ the bill at hand specifically denotes that all of the refugees must enter through the capitol city – that we must accommodate all of them in one metropolitan area for at least one full calendar year-"

"Which is Republic standard procedure for refugees in such circumstances as the Rylothian twi'lek – only the capitol has the departmental resources to process immigrants from the Outer Rim to the full extent of the law, and until-"

"Republic law has never seen the full measure a system's resources," Mii cut in hatefully. "Coruscant does not understand the stress our cities will undertake for their latest pet project."

"They see your situation perfectly well, as has been thoroughly established," Bail Organa cut in. "It may not, however, be in the same light as you _wish_ them to see." He cast a meaningful and infinitesimally short glance at Ben, who blinked indifferently at the wall. Bail kept his eyes turned on his enemy. "Your objections are not based on law. They are not based on a lack of resources. They are not even based on arguments of culture; they are based on a selfish need to dominate, to exclude yourself from the very principles that keep this Republic together." Bail glared at Thane in particular. "Senator Thane, you find yourself out of line in this matter, and you know it. The fact that you've dragged Mii and Tardaak into this fool's errand is regrettable, but I will not allow three obstinate systems to filibuster their way out of a just, legal cause that will not only _not_ harm their worlds, but will, ultimately, bring in new economy. Senators, you must see reason in this matter."

Mii and Tardaak exchanged glances. They'd begun cracking not so long ago. Thane's eyes bored into Bail.

" _Your_ reason, you mean."

"The reason of the Republic of which Kuat is an integral member."

"The reason of an arbitrary majority. I will not give in to the Senate's petty demands!" Thane pounded the banister.

"And I will not bow down to your empty threats!" Bail's voice rang on the chamber walls, leaving a sharp silence ringing in its wake. Ben took this stunned moment to glance at Alara. All Jedi, familiar or strangers at they might be, could read each other's intentions in the Force.

Alara hit the silent beacon on her comlink and waited. She and Ben remained perfectly still, hearts pounding in ears. Comlinks of the type that Alara carried were designed to communicate directly through air or the vacuum of space; they became sluggish when forced to do both at once. She had been using the idle time in the senate chamber to calculate the exact length of time that it would take for the _Zalada_ to receive her transmission, signal their team, and blow the charges they had placed in the ship. Somewhere in the neighborhood of seventeen seconds. She counted down to the time of her own heartbeat while Bail Organa, very deliberately left oblivious to the timing of their plan, resumed his tirade.

"You have no footing. You have no argument. Your filibustering is in complete contempt of the Senate and can accomplish nothing for your cause. It has only dragged us this far on Herdessa because you have waited until the last days of negotiation to attack a bill already passed on Coruscant by an overwhelming majority. You failed to file a Motion to Repeal, and to my knowledge, you did not even _mention_ your concerns to the Chancellor before-"

The shockwave of a massive explosion shook the building. Despite his knowing exactly what it was before it happened, Bail Organa's full-body lurch of surprise was genuine.

"What the hells was that?" Mii asked, peeking through his arms, which he'd reflexively brought up around his head.

Ben looked at Alara, feigning surprise (very convincingly, the togruta had to admit). He went to the window, hand on his saber hilt, casting eyes here and there in vigilance for an imagined threat. His comlink chirped.

"Excuse, me senators," He exited the room in a swirl of brown, not even glancing at Alara as he did.

"The devil is going on?" Thane hissed, eyeing the window.

"I'm sure Master Kenobi has it under control," Alara said mildly. It was difficult to read Thane's expression, which was vexing seeing as she was the object of their stratagem, but Mii and Tardaak were helpfully expressive of their alarm. They would crack as soon as Master Kenobi came back with the bad news, she was sure, which would give Ben and Bail a clear path to stage their full frontal assault.

Alara had always been fond of watching a good fight.

"Senator Thane, even if you insist on prolonging this ridiculous siege of yours, you can accomplish nothing without a quorum."

"Without my signature, you and your _foundlings_ can accomplish nothing, quorum or no."

The doors slid open and Ben Kenobi reappeared. "An apt point, Senator Thane," he said, vocal honey now fermented into contemptuous ire. "I might add one amendment: your restraint _has_ accomplished something. Namely, a Level One Code Red for the entire city." A round of gasps went about the room, and even Bail remembered to act. "The Rylothian flagship, the _Zalada_ , has suffered a catastrophic malfunction in its life support systems. It has minutes before the whole ship falls out of orbit."

All occupants of the room shot to their feet. "What!" Mii squeaked.

"I thought they said the fleet was _safe,"_ Thothili roared.

"You blame _me_ for this, Master Jedi?" Thane spat, ever honed in on the topic of her own concerns. Ben frowned at her.

"You have delayed the closure of these negotiations for three days past the anticipated deadline. Your orneriness has put both the refugees and the planet in danger. You must admit there is some correlation to be found here. Master Dahn," Kenobi turned his attention to his colleague, "go to emergency services and go with the evacuation party. They may need your translation services."

"Of course, Master Kenobi." Alara swished from the room, playing her part with one last glance back at the room.

"Evacuation?" Tardaak said, "But… where will they go? They cannot be processed here."

"Only because all of this protracted debate has made it impossible," Bail snapped. "Are the other ships alright?"

Ben sighed. The anxiety in his voice was, at the moment, not an act. "They are functional. For now. But the _Zalada_ must land as soon as possible. If we can get it safely through the atmosphere, that is."

"After which point you will cut up our portions of freeloaders and send us on our way, my own vote be damned?" Senator Thane guessed, sensing a deception but not sure where exactly it lay. Ben Kenobi's expression remained stony.

"By no means, Senator. We cannot proceed with the ratification of law until all three of you sign your name on the agreement. However, may I remind you that should the Rylothian fleet land here on Herdessa, the department of safety will issue a lockdown on all ships coming and going out of the capitol. You will not be able to leave the surface until they are all processed."

"That's outrageous!" Said Mii.

"Letting thousands of lives perish for reason of filibuster, _that_ is outrageous," Ben corrected him. "Now give up this game. I was sent to see justice and preserve peace, and you all know there can be neither while this foolishness continues. Sign the agreement, or be stranded here for months while Herdessa bears four times your burden for you."

Thane's eyes twitched into a squint, staring like a lothcat into his head. Behind her back, Mii and Tardaak exchanged glances. Ben read them like a book. "Where is this agreement, if you please?" He addressed the protocol droid in the corner who had been recording minutes.

"Just here, Master Jedi," the droid pronounced, and brought a large datapad to him. Ben took it, opened it, and held it out toward Thane. "Sign now, or punish your sister world and be held hostage by your own reluctance."

Mii was the first to fold to the ultimatum, and came forward to hastily sign the agreement in Fadelle's name. Tardaak came forward a few moments afterward, ignoring searing glares from Thane as his robes brushed her chair. He sighed heavily in chagrin as he used the stylus to pen his name under Alsaka's portion of the agreement, but made no move to voice displeasure. Stubborn and misguided as he may have been in this instance, Ben was grateful that he could handle defeat with grace.

His Mistress Commander was a different story altogether.

"Senator Thane," Ben prodded, and looked back toward the window, where he could see a massive, worn Rylothian ship flying – no, falling – toward the planet surface. Its reverse thrusters puffed smoke, a firey spire rising up off the starboard side like a bleeding wound. Sirens and cries of alarmed echoed from the streets outside. He turned back to face the senators. "You do not have much time before Herdessa security closes down hyperspace lanes."

"I can wait," she said, as cold and unfeeling as the cruiser class ships of Kuat's shipyards.

Ben sighed and bit at the inside of his lip to check his anger. "You will wait for another planet to devolve into unplanned chaos so that your system might be spared a few thousand immigrants?"

"I will wait as long as it takes to make the desires of my people abundantly clear to this tyrannical senate," Thane spat.

"Let _me_ make something _abundantly clear,_ senator," Ben raised his voice to match the snarling across the room, "if you intentionally delay the resolution of these negotiations and force Herdessa into a state of emergency on account of your filibuster, I will be forced to file a formal complaint against your actions with the High Jedi Council and the Supreme Chancellor." He let that sink in and added, "I will have no control over what either office might do with the report, but I guarantee it will be far more troublesome than _waiting_."

"Are you threatening me, Master Jedi?" the dragoness hissed back.

"I am warning you, Senator," the Jedi clarified. "As a Knight of the Jedi Order I am sworn to uphold the peace and the law, and I cannot stand by and ignore how you have led this committee on in contempt of your senate by neglecting the safety of an entire system and eighty thousand sentient souls."

Thane's glare saw through the Negotiator's ploy, and was unable to stage a reposte. Ben Kenobi, naturally, had seen this all coming three steps before her.

"Either sign to ratify this bill, or propose, defend, and persuade all of your four colleagues to ratify a new plan before Herdessa goes into lockdown." Which was an absurd enough of an alternative to make Tothili raise his brows and bite his lip. Thane, if only she had been Force sensitive, would've taken Ben's breath away with her dark thoughts. But as it was, her ill will was only a tickle across the Force, which made an irresistible taunt fly off of Ben's tongue: "If it's any help, I estimate you have about eight minutes."

Thane made the protocol droid serve her the datapad, and signed it looking down her nose. She kept the stylus. Ben indulged in a small show of victory by summoning the 'pad the short distance to his hand. While Bail Organa closed business on the debate floor, Ben forwarded the document directly to the Heressan Security offices as well as the Republic Senate and the Chancellor.

Ben and Bail convened in the latter's office following their victory.

"I've never worked with a Jedi before, Master Kenobi," Bail confessed while pouring Ben a small celebratory drink, which the Jedi took graciously. "I admit you contradict many impressions I've been given of your Order in the past."

Ben laughed. "I suppose I would – to my shame. If it restores the reputation of my superiors, I'm certain I have a stern reprimand waiting for me upon my return."

"Ah. Unorthodox, are you?" Bail smiled into his glass.

"Says the politician out to save worlds with his own heart," Ben replied, taking a sip. "I took the liberty of reading the minutes from your time in the Senate. You are an exception, Senator Organa."

Bail took this in stride, but would remember the compliment for many years to come. "It takes one to know one, Master Kenobi."

Ben smiled.

And frowned.

"Master Kenobi?" Bail frowned with him. "Master Kenobi, is something wrong?"

"I'm not sure… it feels as if…"

The explosion spoke for itself. Bail had to catch his glass from falling from his desk. Both men stood to their feet. "What was that?"

"I don't know," Ben said, already sensing the terrible answer, "But I have a very bad feeling about it."

* * *

There were now two ships plummeting toward Herdessa. The first, the _Zalada_ , was now flanked by a dozen large tug ships which upheld its bulk in the sky and hauled it behind an escort to the landing platform.

The second was the _Juclima,_ almost as large as the flagship, and screaming toward the ground, trailing black smoke. The emergency teams were occupied with the _Zalada,_ and only one or two ships attached to its docks, none of them successfully stalling it's descent.

"Sweet Force," Ben said as soon as he saw. Bail gaped at the sight.

"I thought you only sabotaged the _Zalada,"_ The senator said.

"I did. I misjudged which ship would fail first. I..." _This is all my fault._ But there was not time for that. "We need to stop it. We need to stop it right now."

Bail played to his strengths. "I will speak with Senator Irimore, make sure backup is on its way."

"Thank you, Senator," Ben said as Bail retreated back inside, a purposeful slant in his stride.

Ben began running down the senate building stairs, cloak billowing behind him as he skipped steps and leaped over railings. Various aides and rubbernecking crowds dashed out of his way as he dashed toward the streets. " _Master Kenobi! Master Kenobi, come in!"_ Alara's voice broke in through intermittent static.

"Master Dahn," Ben answered, picking up his com clumsily. He missed his gauntlets from the war. "Thane and the rest have signed the bill."

" _Well that's good, but we have bigger problems right now – the second largest ship in the fleet is due to crash any minute, and the emergency teams are occupied with the Zalada."_

Ben's heavy breathing was likely an explanation itself. "Yes, I'm looking at it right now. Has the _Zalada_ been fully evacuated?"

" _Almost. The ship has been stabilized and the evac has slowed - they've sent half of the shuttles to the Juclima, but the docking bay doors are shorted shut; they're going to need help."_

"I will go. Stay with the _Zalada_ and make sure all of the twi'lek reach the surface safely – help delegate emergency ships as you can."

" _Master Kenobi, the Juclima needs all the help she can get – Jedi help. Should we not both-"_

"No, I need you to direct the response teams here - they will need your foresight, as well as your translation services once the Rylothians have disembarked."

" _But Master Kenobi-"_

"Now it not the time to argue, Ahsoka."

" _Who is-"_

"Now, padawan!" Ben clicked the comm channel shut and ran harder, arms pumping until he'd reached the line of parked state shuttles by the boarding lane of the Herdessan Senate. He found one that was still running, the valet only just now undoing his seatbelt.

"I need this shuttle," Ben told him, leaping through the door. "Get out." The valet had never met a Jedi, but he had been told many stories of the sorts of situations in which Jedi typically appeared, all framed in his memory by the haze of alcohol that made the horrifying more horrifying and the danger more real. He practically fell out of the shuttle, sputtering as he went.

"Thank you," Ben took the time to say, and sped off. As soon as he was within distance he hailed the emergency shuttle sailing downward with the _Juclima,_ clamped to its dead docking doors.

" _Shuttle jenth one five, this is HDOS Commander Nessen. Identify yourself."_

"This is Jedi Master Ob- eh, _Ben_ Kenobi. I had the feeling you might want a little help with that door, Commander."

Some of the crew on the other end of the comm cheered, and Ben smiled at the sound. _"Yes Master Jedi. Board at your leisure, sir."_

* * *

"Altitude fifteen thousand meters, sir," a copilot reported as Ben Kenobi climbed through from his shuttle to the DOS car.

"Excuse me," He said, even as the crew scuttled out of his way. He stepped up to the huge durasteel docking door and pressed his palm against it. After a few moments, the door sprung open. The crew leaped into action, running through the new doorway, shouting orders at each other.

"Commander," Ben called, and caught the eye of the man who looked up in response. "I will go to the bridge and speak with the captain. Have your men find the electrical relays and restore power if at all possible. My comm frequency will be on the open channels, should you need me."

"Yes sir."

Upon entering the bridge, Ben was met with the whip-necked stares of half a dozen twi'lek pilots, Ryl shooting back and forth in clipped tones of panic between them.

"Does anyone here speek Basic?" He asked in a loud voice. No reply. He sighed. He had studied Ryl, years ago as a padawan. He only knew a few words.

"Eh… _Jedi,"_ he said in what was hopefully clear Ryl. " _…please… hotel."_ No, that wasn't right. _"…let me."_ He gestured helpfully at the pilot's con. The twi'lek at the indicated station waved him forward. Another said something to him in excited Ryl before running out of the bridge. Unable to understand, Ben sat down at the control and rushed to decipher the Ryl script before him. Luckily, starship layouts were, by and large, similar throughout the galaxy.

A brief survey of the controls told him that there weren't any. With the power gone, the only systems that Ben could control were the emergency generators, which were of little help. "Flying is for droids," He hissed to himself.

"Master Jedi," a heavily accented voice appeared at the fridge doors, and Ben turned to see a young green-skinned twi'lek woman being led by the excited pilot from before.

"You speak Basic."

"Yes, sir, my father made sure I learned Basic and-"

"Can you translate for me?"

"Of course, sir."

"Good. I need to know the state of things."

After a whirlwind of Ryl, the girl turned back to Ben. "The electrical systems have died; the hyperdrive is in poor shape. The engines and life support are functional – _would_ be functional if the power were on."

Ben nodded. "There is a Herdessen crew seeing to the electricity right now. We need to resuscitate it as soon as possible if we are going to get anyone off this ship."

The woman nodded, turned, and shouted across the bridge, receiving nods from most of the crew. A few left the bridge, presumably to assist Nessen's crew. Ben's hands moved over the controls, continually testing systems and continually being met with blank screens and empty readouts. He glanced at his newfound translator, who was doing everything in her power to remain calm. Her eyes were still wide in fear.

"What is your name?" He asked her.

"Nima," she told him. He gave her an encouraging grin.

"Nice to meet you, Nima. I'm Ben."

"Well met, Master Jedi," She mustered a smile as they shook hands.

"Take heart, Nima," he said, jiggling the engine controls to no avail. "Once the power comes back on we will land this ship and you will be on your way to your new home."

" _Master Kenobi,"_ Nessen's voice appeared over the comm.

"Commander,"

" _My men say they may be able to patch the electrical systems, but are not sure how long the repairs will stick. You'll need to open all docking bay doors as soon as the power comes on so we can evacuate the ship."_

"Copy that, Commander, I'll be standing by." He turned to Nima. "Where are the docking controls?"

"Here," she pointed. Ben followed. The Ryl script was an indecipherable as ever, but now even the layout was no help.

"Can you control them?"

"Yes sir."

"Good." He stood and relinquished his seat to her. "As soon as the power comes back on, open all exterior docking doors. The evacuation shuttles will be waiting."

"Yes, sir." Now in the pilot's seat, it was obvious that Nima was used to working on a ship. Her hands hovered over the controls. They all waited. Ben had left his comm channel open, and the reports echoed over in static tones,

" _Altitude ten thousand meters."_

" _Shuttles EVC-5, 6, 7, and 8 standing by."_

" _Reinforcements should be here in half an hour."_

" _We don't have that kind of time!"_

" _Faulty coupling,"_

" _Terminal velocity in one minute,"_

" _Power's on – power's on!"_

The screens flickered to life, switches blinking, alarms blaring. Nima punched the controls and the docking doors opened with a collective slam that Ben could feel in the floor of the bridge.

Ben leaped into the seat beside Nima and began flipping what he hoped were the right switches. "Open all hatches, all flaps, reverse thrusters on full, all stabilizers on. Get this ship as close to the landing pad as you can."

Nima turned and shouted orders at the crew until the captain returned to the bridge.

They were watching the first of the evacuation shuttles fly to the planet surface when the power flickered off. The entire ship lurched to one side, and when the power came back, a massive slam echoed down the corridors, followed by the unmistakable sound of screaming.

"What's happened?" Ben asked Nima, who knew this ship better than he did. She was frowning at her screen.

"The docking doors have closed, the power short has reset the systems," She was scrambling with the controls, as were the rest of the crew. She spoke with the captain rapidly in Ryl, and relayed to Ben, "The nav computers are back online, and the autopilot is overriding our controls. We can't turn it off, it's shorting in and out."

Which would explain a great many things, Ben thought - namely, why the entire ship was turning roundabout midair, crashing into evac ships and ambulances alike. The upper atmosphere was rolling into sight. "Where is it taking us?"

"It's trying to bring up a course for the last destination," Nima said, tapping at the screen with no visible effects. "It's locked me out."

"Last destination? To Ryloth?" Ben asked, eyes flicking to the windshield where the stars were melting into view.

"It must be, it's going to send us down the Corellian Run."

"What?" Ben stood and bent over Nima's nav screen. He shook his head, almost in disbelief. "No, no, that's the _Old_ Corellian Run – this machine's circuits are malfunctioning! Can you not turn it off?"

"Not from here. It won't respond, and if we cut power completely, we'll all die." She hit the panel and growled viciously at it in Ryl, teeth bared. The ship continued on in its course while half a dozen pilots tried each from their stations to stop the ship's self-motivated mutiny. "This ship is next to dead, we won't make it far. Where does the Old Correllian Run go, Master Ben?"

From across the bridge, someone shouted, " _Tie sah, juh rikeket!"_

Nima's eyes grew wide, and she grabbed a fistful of Ben's tunics and shoved him into a chair just as the lightspeed engaged. With a hyperdrive in such a state as that onboard the _Juclima,_ it was the shortest, shakiest, and most harrowing hyperspace journey any of them had ever endured. After thirty heart-stopping seconds, the ailing ship lurched from lightspeed, tumbling through sublight space in a nauseating summersault. Pilots and engineers fought to stabilize the ship. Alarms blaring, lights flashing, Ryl yelled across the entire ship, people crying, the ship careened onward.

A planet wavered into view amid the madness, white-yellow surface blindingly bright in the light of two distant suns. Ben held on to the edge of his chair, and it was not just for motion sickness that his face had gone pale.

"Tatooine," he said shakily, to Nima and to himself. "The Old Corellian Run leads straight to Tatooine."


	12. Wager

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter uses some Huttese. At first it will be huttese in italics. For ease of reading, it will transition into English and set between « »'s.

It was not exactly a landing, but it was not a catastrophic crash, either. The _Juclima_ might not ever fly again, but she'd managed to make her final voyage without killing anyone, which in Ben's opinion qualified as a happy landing, destroyed engines be damned.

Lying on the tilted floor of the bridge with sparks hissing from mangled bulkheads above, Ben forced his awareness through a cloud of dizziness and took stock of his injuries. Perhaps it was his mental age that prompted Ben to pick himself up with such care. He groaned as he stood, but smiled upon finding that his knees were thirty-five years young. He stopped smiling when he tasted blood, which seemed to be flowing down his face from a cut on his forehead. Superficial. He wiped the blood away and spat some out of his mouth.

Beside him, Nima was twisting a sore wrist and wiping blood from her left lekku, which was dotted in scratches. Ben winced. He'd been told before that lekku were extremely sensitive. "Are you alright?" He asked. She turned to him and nodded, still a bit disoriented.

"Yes," She said, assuring herself as much as him. She frowned and added, "but the passengers and crew will be panicking."

She was right, of course. Ben's mind whirred into the present moment, senses reaching out to feel the rapid pulse of panic onboard. Stationary on solid ground, mob mentality was now their worst enemy. Ben brushed himself off and clasped his hands behind his back, fingers flexing just slightly in the absence of plastoid gauntlets. "I will need to speak with the captain."

Nima led him over to a squat blue twi'lek, who was wiping blood from her nose and favoring one arm. Nima spoke with her briefly in Ryl before nodding for Ben to take his turn. "As of fourteenth hour this afternoon, you and all of the Rylothian refugees have been slated for immigration into the Republic." Ben paused for Nima to translate and was rewarded when a brief wave of surprise – and relief – washed over the Captain's face. Nima looked back to him as he continued, "As a representative of the Jedi Order and the Galactic Republic, I must ask your permission to take command of this vessel until I see it safely landed on a Republic world."

The Captain listened to Nima's translation before looking directly at Ben. She raised her chin and said, in very halted and forced Basic, "Bring my people home, Jedi."

Ben smiled. "I plan to, Captain. However, right now I must speak to everyone on board - all at once, if possible." Nima translated. The Captain looked hesitant, but nodded and began snapping off instructions to her crew, who dashed to respond with newfound purpose. A group escorted Ben deeper into the ship, past bent walls and through jammed doors, the sputtering antigrav only occasionally correcting the pitch of their landing.

Half-dead speakers crackled to life, broadcasting Ryl instructions which Ben could not understand. Twi'lek of all sizes and ages bustled around him, some crying, some yelling at each other. Ben clenched his teeth against the bombardment. The Force was nauseated with green swells of panic, anger, pain. The mixture bubbled at a nervous simmer, unevenly heated and volatile. Ben made himself breathe evenly as he walked, listening to his own heartbeat. It was a battlefield meditation tactic he'd used well in the Wars, but now it brought him patchy comfort. He found no peace in the Force, only the steady chant of _Tatooine, Tatooine, Tatooine,_ to each beat of his heart, chased by a shot of adrenaline: _Anakin._

 _No._ Ben gripped his lightsaber in his hand, focusing on the pontite crystal. _Do not focus on your anxieties, Obi-Wan._ It was easier to bring Qui-Gon's voice to mind now, now that they'd just spoken that morning, now that he was alive, now that things had changed. Everything had changed. This panic was unfounded. Ben drew the Force to himself and let go. _Keep your mind in the here and now._

Here and now, Ben's escort led him onto a balcony overlooking a massive cargo bay. Below, the twi'lek passengers and crew – as well as Commander Nissen's team – were packing into the space shoulder to shoulder. A few stray passengers pressed in for room around Ben and the Captain, all whispering to each other, asking crewmembers what was going on. Nima elbowed through the crowd to stand by Ben. "Captain Ky'elee will speak first," she told him, and he nodded. The sounds of children crying echoed from all parts of the chamber, overshadowed by panicky voices, families trying to find their loved ones, mothers shushing their rattled children. Ben breathed in and out, clearing his mind of anxious air. He would not be intimidated by the Force's methods, he decided. _Chaos, yet harmony._ That was what he wanted to teach his younger self, did he not?

Beside him, Ky'elee raised her voice to the crowd, holding out one good arm to signal their attention. It worked to little effect. After numerous attempts to quiet the throng, someone handed her a voice projector. Within seconds, everyone was listening. Children still cried, and a few still whispered, but now the thousands of twi'lek eyes bore up onto the balcony in rapt anticipation. The captain said her piece briefly and turned to allow Ben command of the room. She gave the voice projector to Nima.

Ben breathed in, out. When he spoke, he made sure it was in a loud voice; whether or not any of these twi'lek spoke Basic was irrelevant. Presence was just as much a part of conversation as speech. "My name is Ben Kenobi. I am a Jedi Master of the Jedi Order of the Galactic Republic." Which was a mouthful for Nima to translate, but once she did a ripple of interested murmurs flew across the bay. "I have taken temporary command of this ship in order to escort you safely back to the Republic." Nima's projected Ryl echoed just slightly after his as he continued on: "This ship is in no immediate danger, but has been severely damaged. We will need to seek repairs." A collective sound of disappointment. "Shortly after takeoff, the ship's electrical systems malfunctioned, prompting the navigations systems to send us back into the Outer Rim; to the world of Tatooine. This is the world on which we have landed."

Nima translated. An uproar, soft at first but growing in waves as panic spread through the ranks. Ben drew on the Force to exude a sense of a calm. He waited for a lull and said in a loud voice:

"People of Ryloth, you have been very brave." Nima's eyes shone with approval as she translated. "You have shown courage and determination. You must not give up now. You will make it to your homes." The cargo bay grew steadily quieter, until Ben had their attention once more.

"I have already sent out a distress signal to the Republic fleet requesting assistance. Even as we make attempts to repair our ship, the Republic will send aid and, if needed, an evacuation crew here to Tatooine." After the obligatory delay of translation, a more optimistic tone buzzed through the crowd. Ben waited for it to die down before he enunciated the most vital communicate of the day: "However, I must insist that _absolutely no one_ leave this ship, save for myself and the Herdessen officials onboard. As of now, this ship is Republic ground. As long as you stay on this ship, you are under the protection of the Republic Senate, the Herdessen government, and the Jedi Order." Ben was grateful for the stern expression and grave tone that Nima affected in her translation. "However, take one step outside of this ship and you leave that protection. For your own safety and the ease of evacuation, I must insist that everyone stay inside." He did not miss the fact that Nima repeated this final enunciation, which was probably wise. Some solemn murmuring ran about the ship, with a few twi'lek clarifying the words for their friends. When they were done, he gave the company an encouraging smile.

"Take heart, _Juclima._ You will soon be on Republic ground to stay." After Nima translated, Ben recalled to mind one of the very few Ryl phrases that had stuck from his padawan years - a traditional parting. " _Tiu ohk kue dan vahs."_ Nima paused when she realized she did not have to translate. She gave him a smile. "Well said, Jedi."

He gave her a grin and a nod before stepping down and letting Ky'elee take up the voice projector once more. While the captain delivered more orders to her crew and passengers, Ben retreated back down the hallway. "Now the hard part begins." After he was away from the noise, Ben took out his comlink and browsed the open channels.

"Commander Nessen? This is Master Ben Kenobi, come in."

" _Master Kenobi. Nice speech you gave back there. I was just about to comm you."_

"Anything to report?"

A tired sigh. _"As you already know, the hyperdrive is irreparable. But I'm afraid that it's worse than that."_

Ben's heart sank. "How much worse?"

" _Our electrical patch survived that hyperspace nightmare, but the relays have welded themselves open. We have power, but we have no way to control it. With this many lifeforms onboard…"_ Nissen sighed again, and Ben could hear a soft prickling movement, possibly an exhausted hand run over a stubble beard. " _The boys tell me we'll suck the generators dry in two standard days."_

That was hardly good news. Ben remained calm. "Can the relays not be repaired?"

" _Not with what we have onboard. If we try to patch this again, we could break the main circuits, or worse, short out the generators themselves. We need new parts; proper ones. Until we have that, all we can do is try to herd the power into the important things. Life support, lighting, doors. We're having trouble communicating that with the crew."_

"I know someone who may be able to help you in that regard. I'll send her to meet your crew. In the meantime, I will go to the planet surface and see if I can't locate someplace to obtain the necessary electronics." This whole situation was beginning to feel terribly familiar.

" _Very well. If I may, Master Kenobi, I will send Private Taren with you – he's the one who patched the systems, he'll know what parts we need."_

Terrribly, _terribly_ familiar. It was odd, being in Qui-Gon's shoes. At least Ben didn't have an apprentice to abandon, this time around. "Very well," He said eventually. "I will let the captain know of our plans."

" _I can send Private Rand along as well for backup if you wish,"_ Nissen added, a warranted degree of caution in the suggestion. Still, self-armament was a Jedi prerogative.

"That won't be necessary, Commander, I'll handle things."

" _Of course, sir. Good luck."_

Ben ended the conversation and went to find Nima once more. After he'd relayed the plan to Ky'elee and sent Nima to meet Nissen's crew in the engineering deck, he met Private Taren at the main ramp, where a retinue of crewmembers made sure they were the only two beings leaving the ship.

* * *

Once he and Taren were on Tatooine's sandy surface, Ben squinted into the horizon and sighed, memory swelling with the balm of heat and dust. The private scowled at the desert and eyed his robed companion. "You ever been to Tatooine, sir?"

Ben made no immediate reply, as he was occupied smoothing out his mental maps. He surveyed the subtle landmarks that he'd come to recognize over his many years in the desert, memory jogging to catch up. Tatooine was a vast planet, but only a sliver of its desolate surface could sustain life. He knew this small hemisphere better than he knew the Jedi homeworld of Coruscant. Ben grimaced against the bitter flavor of this realization. He turned his attention back to Taren's question. "Coincidentally, Private, I have. Come on then. This way." He pulled his hood up for shade and trudged up the first dune in front of him. "We'll want to reach town before midday."

In his years of exile, Ben had seldom deviated from the long course between his own home, Anchorhead, and the Lars residence. However, once in a while, particularly in his earlier years, he had made a point to trek to Tatooine's other towns and outposts once in a while, for reconnaissance or supply runs or both. On such journeys, he'd always been plagued by guilt, paranoid that someone would recognize him, that Luke would fall into trouble while he was away. However, now in the antecedent of his own history, he was grateful to have learned the lay of the land. He was only able to recognize the imminent city because he'd been there before.

"We're further West than I would have liked," Ben told Taren as they trod down another dune. "But it will have to do."

"West?" Taren scoffed, having trouble keeping sand out of his boots. "This whole planet is a dustball, I can hardly tell up from down, let alone west from east."

"The Western Dune Sea separates us from the capitol and most other settlements," Ben pointed to a spot on his right which, to Taren, looked identical in every significant way to any given spot currently in sight. He frowned.

"We'll have trouble finding what we need out here," he guessed, squinting at the small city that had appeared on the monochrome horizon.

"Perhaps. The Force will provide an answer." Taren only shook his head and continued on. A short while later, Ben did a double take of Taren's uniform.

"Speaking of trouble," He said, stepping toward the private and ripping the identification tag from his uniform. "If anyone recognizes us as Republic travelers, our job will become far more difficult. You'll need to cover up any insignias. Maybe rub some sand in it for good measure." Baffled, Taren complied, unzipping his jumpsuit halfway and tying the sleeves about his waist so that the Herdessan seals and symbols were covered. He crossed now bare arms, watching as Ben wrapped his dark cloak about himself and made sure his lightsaber was well hidden.

"Is this really necessary, Master Kenobi?"

Ben gave him a look. "Perhaps not. But I've found that in Mos Shuuta, precaution is the wisest route to take." The truth of the matter was that he'd never been to Mos Shuuta before the Empire had domesticated it. He had, however, heard the stories. But there was nothing to be done. He ignored the Private's horrified expression. "Come along."

* * *

"Mos _Shuuta?"_ Taren hissed at his companion. Unlike some Coreworld natives, Taren was from a world situated right on the edge of Republic space, and had learned plenty of slimy details about his Outer Rim neighbors over the years. "This place is going to be crawling with slugs."

Ben grabbed Taren's arm and moved him aside so a duneback could pass by. Taren wrinkled his nose at the stench, but Ben remained unaffected. "The _civil_ term is _hutt._ And if you wish to keep all of your limbs and extremities attached to your person, I would recommend that you use it." Beneath his hood, Ben's eyes scanned their surroundings, his senses branching out, seeking help, suggesting anonymity, urging those around them to pay no mind. His efforts were lost on Taren, of course.

"Either way, we need to get in and get out. There. That looks like a shipyard up the way. They might have what we need – some of it, anyway."

It was indeed a shipyard, and their inventory did include the parts they needed. They were all old and rusted scraps, of course. Taren scowled as he picked at the outdated wiring on a XT-9 transformer, but still nodded at his Jedi companion. "This should do us for a short while, at least." Ben nodded and went around to negotiate a price.

"How much for all of this?" He asked with a bored expression as Taren piled parts onto the counter. The duros clerk stopped picking at her fingernails and considered their haul. "Eighty five peggat," she said, disinterested. Ben raised an eyebrow.

"This scrap is hardly worth looking at, let alone buying. Sixty-eight."

The clerk lowered her feet off the counter deliberately, globe eyes glaring. Taren took a step back. Ben held his ground. "This is _my_ shop, offworlder. I set the prices. "Seventy-seven peggat."

Ben scoffed. "Highway robbery. Seventy."

"Seventy five."

"Seventy and not a single wupuipi more."

"Seventy-Two. Final offer, sleemo."

Ben set his jaw. "Done."

The clerk scowled at him as he fished around in his sleeves. Her scowl deepened when he dropped two credit chips on the counter.

"Republic credits?" She deadpanned the question. Ben held his impassive expression.

"I believe you will find that they have a favorable exchange rate to your own currency."

"I don't take Republic promises, you slime, only cash. Do you want these pieces or don't you?"

"You will take the credits," Ben insisted, his fingers moving beneath his sleeve in the Jedi motion of suggestion.

"You just upped your price, Republic dog."

"Republic credits will do _fine,"_ he insisted.

The duros fell silent and squinted at him. "Yes, I think they will," she growled. "Just a moment." Her chair squeaked and spun as she went to the back room.

"Well," Taren said in the ensuing silence, "that worked well." Ben did not share in the man's relief. His mind trick hadn't worked, he was sure. If it had, she would have obeyed immediately rather than retreat. But if she was not following Ben's suggestion, then what…

 _Click._ The clerk reappeared with a blaster pistol primed and aimed at Ben's head. He pursed his lips and sighed. Oh, for heaven's sake.

"You're coming with me, Republic scum."

* * *

"I have a bad feeling about this," Taren said, wincing as the Gamorrean guards jostled him forward by raw sunburnt arms. The binders didn't help. Ben walked calmly onwards beside the man.

"You shouldn't have fought her; the entire city is a gang network. You're lucky they left you alive. Let me do the talking."

"Talking? You can't be serious. Slug- _Hutts_ don't negotiate!"

"Just let me do the talking, Taren," Ben insisted, emphasizing the man's name sans title. The prisoner scowled back at him.

They arrived at a large smoke-filled chamber flanked by half a dozen guards, the duros' pistol still pressed to Ben's back. After his eyes adjusted to the light, Ben could make out the lumped silhouette of a hutt against the hazily-lit window. They came closer, and his eyes lit in recognition. After the debacle at the scrapyard, he was not surprised to find himself dragged into an audience with a hutt crimelord; he was, however, entirely surprised to recognize her.

"Gardulla Besadii," Ben said, voice conveying none of the shock he felt.

"You _know_ it?" Taren hissed, before he was elbowed in the gut by his captors. Ben ignored him. Gardulla recoiled in apparent surprise.

" _Hee, bu Ciduepe mee yinba bla bu lhonu Gardulla!"_ She eyed Ben keenly. _"Ah'chu apenkee, kaae catka?"_

The slave girl standing by the hutt opened her mouth to translate, but Ben answered first: "My name is Ben Kenobi. I am glad to finally meet you, your greatness. As I am sure you have been informed, I merely wish to purchase some supplies to repair my ship, but there seems to have been a severe misunderstanding." He smiled up at her, an anathema amid the sea of surly faces around him.

If Gardulla was impressed by his fluency in Huttese, it did not show on her gargantuan face. She waved a meaty hand. «A misunderstanding indeed. Seize him.»

Before her guards had come within a metre of Ben, he'd drawn his saber and ignited it. The gamorreans squealed and staggered back, spears pointed but uncertain. The translator slave's eyes grew wide in the sapphire light, chains jingling as her hand went over her mouth. One droid fled the room; another fell over.

«JEDI!»At least those two syllables remained universal.

"A misunderstanding indeed," Ben echoed his hostess, tone far deeper tone than before. He held his weapon steady and gave a smile. "As I believe I was saying, we only wish to purchase parts for our ship and be on our way. We have no quarrel with you."

«You've brought a ship here?» Gardulla asked, saving fierce face despite the Jedi threat.

"It is no concern of yours. Now let me pay for the parts and be on my way – I know as well as you that hutts deal in Republic credits often enough to make it worth your while." He cast a glance at the duros clerk, who had leaped away from him when he'd drawn his saber. "Highway robbery that it may be."

«Hmm. I will see to my own concerns, Jedi.» Suddenly, a guard wrapped a massive arm around Taren's neck and pinned a blaster against his head. «Go on then, little Jedi,» Gardulla taunted. «Pay for your scraps. I will take this one in exchange for your own life. »

Ben glanced at Taren, who struggled to breathe against the Gamorrean's bicep. Theoretically, he could subdue the dozen or so guards that now lined the chamber. He could not, however, defeat them all _and_ ensure Taren's safety. He clenched his jaw. _Hutts don't negotiate._ Well, no, they didn't. Not exactly.

"Giving in at first blows?" Ben said quietly, brows raised. He shrugged, disengaging his saber so he could peruse his belt pockets. "Hmm."

Gardulla faltered, razor thin pupils turning slowly to focus on Ben. «You should be grateful for my leniency, _e chu ta_.»

Ben smiled at the familiar expletive. Now he was getting somewhere. "Grateful, but underwhelmed. I was warned that you'd be far more formidable. I'll be glad to report otherwise. Now, how much was it, twenty seven – no, twenty eight hundred credits, yes?"

«Twenty eight thousand,» Gardulla clarified angrily.

Ben's eyebrows shot up in surprise. He looped his thumbs through his belt. "I do not have that much."

«Then call your Corebred friends and ask for more,» Gardulla said, waving a hand easily through air. «Or would you rather watch your friend die first for a few pieces of scrap?» Upon seeing Ben's lost expression, she began to laugh deeply, belly and breasts shaking. She drank from a reeking tankard and licked her lips. «My first blows have slain greater men than the likes of you, Jedi.»

Ben said nothing, eyeing his surroundings with a mock uncertainty convincing enough that Taren looked utterly convinced that he was on death's doorstep. "Very well," Ben said. A droid came forward and gave him a comlink. He put his thumb to the dial and paused thoughtfully before lifting his head once more. "Second blows are weightier than the first, as you well know, Gardulla. I offer a chance for greater victory: a wager."

Gardulla remained stony faced, though her attendants glanced at her with uncertainty. «What kind of wager?»

"A round of sabaac. If you win, I will pay double what you ask, and you may keep my friend in exchange for the parts."

The Hutt did not betray a hint of approval or displeasure. «And if you win?»

"If I win, you will release my friend, give us the parts for the bartered price, and let us go peacefully on our way."

All eyes were on Gardulla as she considered this. Slowly, she began to laugh. «You will lose, Jedi.»

Ben smiled. "We shall see."

A chair was brought in and set before Gardulla's table. Ben climbed into it and sat stone-faced and calm while his lightsaber was confiscated and the cards were dealt. The Jedi and the Hutt began to play.

Ben had learned how to play the game – or, some would say, artform – of sabaac years ago at the Jedi temple, under the masterly instruction of Qui-Gon Jinn. Qui-Gon had long been fond of the game, and was known to carry a deck of cards with him at all times. Ben remembered how many Jedi had frowned upon his master's affinity for a gambler's game, but he had witnessed its powers first hand. It was truly remarkable what you could learn, barter, and conquer with just sixty-eight cards and a little slight of hand.

" _You cheated, padawan,"_ he could almost hear Qui-Gon's incredulity resonating from a match held long ago in his late apprenticeship.

" _Your focus determines your reality, master,"_ he'd retorted, parroting Qui-Gon's own adage back to his face, _"Besides, Jedi never cheat."_ He'd grinned cheekily. " _From a certain point of view."_

Qui-gon's smile had been chagrined and immeasurably proud. But the memory was interrupted when the master shook his head fondly and told Ben, _"Focus on the present moment, Obi-Wan."_

The stench of the hutt's hideaway drew Ben back into the present. Their cards had been locked in, and at present Ben had a horrible hand. Not to worry, however. Any Jinn-taught sabaac player worth their salt knew how to draw out a game; and Obi-Wan had spent more time playing sabaac with Qui-Gon than anyone.

Despite his stratagems, Ben had to admit that Gardulla was a formidable opponent. As the game wore on some three hours in, he found himself breathing just slightly faster than when they'd started. He knew what he was doing. He was fairly sure he could pull through. But Gardulla's inscrutable glare into his head made him wonder if she were just toying with him, after all. Hutts were impossible to read through the Force.

The quiet of the chamber was shattered when a cry echoed from a corridor. It was quiet at first, and then louder. Distorted by the cavernous acoustic, at first the sound was unrecognizable to Ben's ear. However, after a moment, the sound arrived in clarity. A baby's cry. The Force spiked black with carnal fear, emanating from the slave girl still waiting on Gardulla. Ben and Gardulla turned to look at her at the same moment - Ben out of concern, Gardulla in pure rage.

« _E chu ta!»_ She roared, bass voice shaking the table. She slammed her cards aside face-down and backhanded the girl across the face. «How many times, you breeding filth!» She growled at a guard, «Go take care of Shmi's brat,»

" _Nobata, kolka,"_ the girl begged, picking herself up, "Please, please, I'll see to him."

«You said that the last time, and again before that, you human whore, and here we are.»

"Please, please don't hurt him, he'll be a good worker some day, just let me take care of him."

«Go, or I'll strike you both down!»

She ran from the room, past the commissioned guard. Gardulla grumbled more expletives.

The baby continued to cry for several uncountable seconds, but Ben did not hear it. His mind had gone blank, heart stilled in time, hands frozen on his cards. _Shmi._ It felt as though his whole being had been sucked through a vortex and pulled into some alternate reality, where he floated inside a globe, onto which interior was projected holo video of a thousand moments at once, each one awash in his mistakes, his fears, his hopes. All of them spoke a single word at him in a cacophony of emotion, in voices loud and soft, loving and hateful: _"Anakin."_

The crying stopped, and Ben was back in his own body, sucking in used smoke and playing sabaac with Gardulla Besadii. He sat up straight and met her gaze. "I want to raise the stakes." He made sure he had her attention. "I win, the girl and her child as well come with me."

Gardulla looked unimpressed. «In exchange for?»

"Triple payment."

She laughed. Notwithstanding that she'd just sworn to strike down Shmi and her child, the huttese ego was a formidable thing to conquer. «I will bet you for a box of scraps and your life, Jedi. No credits will buy my property from me.»

"Quadruple payment."

«Do not insult me again, Republic scum. It is your turn.»

"Twenty-two thousand slaves," Ben burst.

Gardulla's head rose in surprise. «What did you say?»

Ben swallowed in silence. Sweet Force, _what_ had he just said? The words had left his mouth before he'd thought of them. But… he _had_ said them. In horror, he pressed forward, a cold sweat overtaking him. "My ship. I am carrying twenty-two thousand twi'lek. If I win, I get the girl and her son. If you win, you take the ship and the twi'lek with it."

Force, it was a dark taste on his tongue. Taren, who'd been sitting chained in the corner, was choking on shock. Gardulla stared at Ben for one, three, five seconds. She let out a manic laugh, and down the hall Anakin began squalling once more.

«You are a madman, little Jedi.» Ben said nothing in reply. «And you will lose.»

Ben screamed his panic into the Force and dug fingernails deep into pillars that had betrayed him once before. Sweat dripped down his back. Words buzzed through his mind, nipping at his conscience. What was he doing? Twenty-five thousand lives for two? It was madness. He would break his promise he'd made hours ago to every _Juclima_ occupant. He'd break his oath as a Jedi. He'd break galactic law.

To save _one infant._

Force, what kind of wager was that? Was he going mad? Going _dark?_ But it had just… happened. He felt as though he hadn't had a choice in the matter. He clenched his jaw.

The game dragged on for another two hours at a stalemate until there remained only two unplayed cards in the drawing deck. It was Gardulla's pick first, and Ben had not been so panicked in his entire two lifetimes.

Gardulla picked her card and settled it amongst her hand, wide mouth curving wider in a smile. Ben's heart froze in his chest. He looked down at the single remaining card on the table, heard like a stone. He picked it up, turned it over-

-and breathed.

Gardulla had been too attentive to allow Ben to cheat. She was more shrewd than Qui-Gon, more adept than an underworld Coruscanti. Ben had seen her cheat twice but had been in no position to do anything about it. She had cornered him here against unspeakable odds in a bet that, should he lose, would likely see him expelled from the Jedi Order. Yet here was a hand that Ben had only seen once in his entire life, sitting in the cheating palms of his master. There was absolutely no way it could have happened even if he'd planned it.

 _But you always say the Force works in mysterious ways, master,_ said a memory of Anakin. Well yes, Ben thought, new clarity throwing out the evaporated dust of his panic. Yes, it certainly did. After Gardulla threw down her perfect twenty-three hand with a raucous shout of triumph, Ben calmly, carefully set out his Idiot's Array, still trying to believe the sight for himself.

Gardulla looked down at it and exploded into a rage, expletives and spittle flying from her mouth as one. She tossed the table into the air, cards flying, drinking glasses shattering on the floor. She reached for a blaster, but as she did Ben summoned his confiscated lightsaber to hand. He interposed the blue blade between himself and the hutt, his mouth unusually dry. "My friend, the parts, the slave, and the boy," said the Negotiator quietly, standing only by the grace of the Force itself. By the same grace of the day, Gardulla only glared and said,

«Bring them to him.»

Taren was released. Shmi was dragged back into the room, kicking and screaming. This time, she held an infant to her chest.

"Time to go," Taren urged, smacking Ben in the side when the Jedi could not peel his eyes away from the babe. Ben glanced at Shmi's face, at Anakin's buddled body, and at Gardulla, who's face already bespoke a impending, volcanic revenge.

"Yes, it is." He tossed his credit chips on the floor in front of the hutt.

With that, Ben turned on his heel and escorted a Herdessen officer, a slave girl, and the Chosen One of the Force out of a Hutt's lair and into the Tatooine dusk.


	13. Force Be With You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a sneaking suspicion that some people may hate a particular decision I've made in this chapter. But remember, hate leads to suffering and suffering leads to the Dark Side.

Outside, the world was awash in a purple-pink haze. A cool breeze ran through the streets of Mos Shuuta, tossing up bits of still-sizzling sand to nip at the heels of Gardulla's fleeing guests. Beyond the city, their path across the dune fields fell in dramatic double shadows, lit by two massive stars setting in harmonic time. Tatooine's landscape looked entirely different than when they'd left the _Juclima._ And so, Ben thought, did the landscape of the future spread before him. He did not know what all he had altered with that horrible gambit, and he was unsure if all of it was good. But the galaxy would be entirely different for it. It was the will of the Force, he was certain. Yet for all the wisdom he'd found on Tatooine in another life, here again with a second chance peace was elusive.

They walked toward the _Juclima_ in a daze, Ben and Taren each hauling a small antigrav pallet of ship parts, Shmi carrying Anakin against her chest in a sling. Out of the stale air of Gardulla's hall, out of binders, out of slavery all at once. And, for Ben, out of the yawning maw of what would have surely been his biggest mistake yet. He was still in a cold sweat when Taren attempted to strike up a conversation with their new companion.

"What is your name?"

"Shmi."

"And your child, there?"

Shmi hoisted the babe closer to her, eying Taren warily. "He's called Anakin." On Taren's other side, Ben's heart clenched at finally hearing the name.

Sensing her unease, Taren smiled at her. "I've a young daughter at home, just a bit older than him," He told her encouragingly, "he looks healthy. You've done well by him."

Still unsure if there was an ulterior motive behind the kindness, Shmi didn't look at him when she muttered a quiet "thank you."

Ben watched her quietly while they spoke. He could not see her infant son, bundled against her breast in a makeshift sling, but he could see Shmi. Ben had never met Shmi. He'd seen holos of her once or twice when a very young Anakin was still allowed communications with her, but of course he had never seen her in her youth. Seeing her now in the flesh, it surprised Ben just _how_ young she was. He'd always assumed Shmi had been well into adulthood when she'd borne Anakin, but seeing her now he hardly recognized her.

He supposed that, as had been his own experience, the sands hadn't been kind to Shmi as she'd aged. But it was hardly a problem for her now; the heat and grit hadn't worn down this young mother. Her face was still smooth, drawn in a frown but unwrinkled and taught. Her stance bespoke a bone-deep strength, her frame slight and recovering from a not-far-gone pregnancy. Despite all of this, she was still hardly more than a girl. She could not have been more than a year or two older than Obi-Wan.

It was such a weighty burden for one so young, Ben thought. Weighty and familiar to his old, tired heart. _We weren't prepared, you and I,_ Ben said to Shmi silently, knowing she wouldn't hear. _But by the will of the Force, I will be this time._

"Is there, uh," Taren was attempting to speak kindly, but Shmi still glared at him with a fierce protectiveness. "Is Anakin's father a slave as well? Should we go back for him?"

"There is no father," Shmi spat back. She turned her face away, glaring and blushing. Taren looked away in mortified silence, his mouth iterating a short "O" shape. He let the conversation fall silent, but Ben could sense the Private's intense pity for the slave girl and all the abuse she must've gone through. It was a reasonable assumption to make.

Ben had always wondered about Shmi's claim that Anakin had no father. Had she been genuine in her claims? Had the Force truly brought Anakin to bear out of pure energy? Or had Shmi lied to Anakin, and later to Qui-Gon, in order to avoid the harsher truths of her enslavement? He took one glance at her and found he was fine not knowing either way; it would only heap hurt upon hurt to ask again.

When Anakin began to cry and pull at the clothes covering Shmi's chest, Ben pointed encouragingly up ahead. "Not too much further now," He pointed, where the shadow of the giant Rylothian ship was hoving into view, "Come on."

They completed their journey in tired silence.

* * *

After they reboarded the _Juclima_ and transferred the ship parts to the electricians, the crew directed the return party to a spare residential room where they could rest. Taren lounged against a bulkhead, scrolling through a datapad of reports that had arrived in his absence while Ben removed his cloak and hung it by the door. As he relayed to Ben, they had arrived not a moment too soon. Two of the four generators had suffered a massive power leak in their absence, and without new parts the remaining two could have shorted out as well. Ben nodded, grateful that his bet had been worth something. Then again, he already knew that. He looked over to where Shmi Skywalker sat with her son.

She had been watching the twi'lek rush to and fro outside the room while Anakin suckled. She tore her eyes from them and looked to Ben. "You would have given up their lives?" She asked quietly, sharp eyes watching his every move. "For a slave?"

Taren looked up at Ben as well, waiting to hear the answer.

Ben's training allowed him to save face. "I would never have gone through with it," he assured them; assured himself. "I only made the bluff because she would not part with you for less."

Shmi remained unconvinced. She squinted at him. "You are a Jedi. I've heard stories about your kind…" she looked him up and down. "Of men who keep their word."

"Stories which are entirely accurate, I assure you. However, when when dealing with Hutts, one must speak a language they understand."

Taren nodded slowly, readily accepting this. Shmi nodded, but remained sullen. She adjusted her baby to a better spot, and Ben couldn't keep from smiling when mother and son's eyes met. Shmi's love for her son was a bright beacon in the Force, as pure as Anakin's infantile devotion to this one soul in the galaxy. It made Ben's heart ache in ways he couldn't fully understand; he'd never had the luxury to imagine himself as a father.

"Where will you take us, then?" Shmi asked after Anakin was settled, bringing Ben's mind back to the present. "Do you Jedi use slaves in your temples?"

Ben sat up straight, affronted at the idea. His surprise made him pause before saying, "No, of course not. We abhor the slave trade, actively fight against it, in fact." He smiled at her. "Once we get this ship off this planet, you're free to go wherever you wish."

"What?" Her eyes grew steadily wider until Ben could all but see the tears welling up. "But…" The girl's thoughts grasped at concepts of which she'd never conceived. "But where?"

"Well, this ship is full of refugees bound for immigration into the Republic," Ben offered. "Although you are not officially one of their number, I know a man who I'm sure would be more than happy to assist you. He'll find you a place to live far away from here."

Shmi took one look at her son and began to cry. Something stopped Ben from going to comfort her, but he smiled in intense sympathy as she cleaned herself, sniffling and wiping her eyes. She hoisted her baby up to her shoulder and pulled up the collar of her tunic.

"Thank you, sir Jedi,"

He smiled, acutely aware of the wrinkles in his face and the youth of the mother before him. "Call me Ben," he told her. She nodded.

"Thank you, Ben."

"Sir," Taren took the pause to rise, "the men have asked for me in electrics. Do you need anything else?"

"No, thank you, Private. You did admirably today, thank you for your assistance."

"Of course, sir. Ma'am." He nodded at Shmi and left.

The Jedi and the slave girl sat in silence while Shmi cleaned Anakin's face and burped him and wrapped him back up in his thin swaddles. Unfortunately, the child was having none of it, and worked a meaty fist out of his confines in short order. Shmi only tutted at him and began playing with his small hand, letting him chase her fingertips in meaningless patters in the air.

Ben was completely unsurprised when the babe reached out and summoned his mother's necklace to his hand with an instinctive use of the Force. Shmi batted it back down and put it under her shirt, but Anakin stretched out his hand and there again the pendant arrived.

"Does he do that often?" Ben asked, voice amused. Shmi looked up.

"Um, yes," it was obvious she did not fully understand the meaning behind his abilities. "I don't… I don't know why. Or how."

"Your son is very strong in the Force. He doesn't know what he's doing as of yet."

Shmi seemed puzzled. She plucked her pendant from Anakin's hands once more, only to have him take it again when she looked back up at Ben. "The Force?"

"The Force; the energy of all life that upholds the galaxy. It is what gives us Jedi our power. And, as it would seem," he smiled at Anakin, who was pulling quite adamantly at his mother's necklace, "what allows young Anakin to indulge his penchant for jewelry."

Shmi looked down at Anakin and studied him with a worried frown, as if she could see the power in him. But to her, he was only a baby, her baby, the only thing that mattered in her world. She looked up to Ben and made the Jedi lean back from the force of her fear. "Will you take him?"

"No," Ben assured her, and glanced down at Anakin. Would he? He had to, didn't he? And yet… that deep welling feeling in his gut, the one that had blurted out his gamble, the one that kept him functioning day in and day out now compelled him to say, "no, of course not. As I've said, the Jedi do not deal in sentient cargo." He came over to sit by Shmi now, and exuded a sense of calm. He glanced down at her son. "Anakin does have the potential to become a Jedi - a very great Jedi, in fact. I've never seen such ability in an infant before. But even so, you are his mother," he met eyes with Shmi, to make sure his sincerity was not lost. "And unless you explicitly consent, the Jedi Order will not lay a hand on him. You have nothing to fear." They both looked down when Shmi's necklace jumped to Anakin's tiny palm once more. Ben chuckled. "Though you may perhaps want to hide that from him in the future."

Shmi nodded and took the wooden pendant away from him, tucking it into her shirt. Moments later, she yawned widely and sighed as Anakin began fussing. Ben cast her a compassionate look. "You need rest, Shmi. There's a bed just over there. I can look after young Anakin for now."

The way her neck whipped around to look at him was maternal instinct personified. He gave her a soft smile. "I'm no stranger to children. I'll stay put right here, I promise. Let him antagonize someone else's accessories for a while."

With painful hesitation, Shmi nodded and transferred Anakin to Ben's waiting arms. She went to the bed and lay down, watching her son through a cracked eye. It was mere moments before she fell into an exhausted sleep. Across the room, Ben looked down at his new companion.

Sweet Force, he was so _small_. Anakin wobbled his head in protest to Ben's stiff posture and the Jedi fumbled to gently rearrange him in his too-big arms. Ben had held infants before, plenty of times. But now he was carrying the fate of the galaxy in the crook of his elbow and he felt as though he'd break him. He had once before.

Shmi breathed calmly and evenly from the other end of the room, leaving Ben and Anakin to make acquaintance in solitude. Alone with his very, _very_ young brother of yesteryear, Ben couldn't dam the tears that stirred at his eyes. "There now," he smiled shakily down at the infant, "that was very rude of you, Anakin. What have I told you about frivolous uses of the Force?"

Anakin, compelled by the space-time continuum and the law of conservation of matter, could not recall any of Obi-Wan's lectures. In place of articulating this excuse, he pulled at the edge of Ben's tabards and spat bubbles. Ben burst into either laughter or tears - the two phenomena felt so astonishingly similar, sometimes. His cheeks were wet, at any rate. "Yes, that's right," the master said, laughing. But the laughing became silent sobs. Anakin remained unaffected, staring up at the weeping man in non-recognition. This made Ben cry harder. "Anakin," He choked, and covered his mouth with a sleeve to stifle his emotion.

Tenderly, he clutched Anakin upright to his chest and leaned a cheek against the infant's crown. Tears unchecked, Ben began rocking back and forth to the waves of grief he thought he'd conquered years ago. "I'm sorry," he crooned to the small Chosen One and the world he'd left too broken to continue on, "I'm so sorry."

* * *

They awoke the next morning to the sound of claxons.

Ben stiffened and shot an arm over him chest where he somehow knew Anakin would be. Miraculously, the boy was still asleep, though frowning expressively and on the cusp of a rude awakening. Ben looked around and winced at a crick that had formed in his neck. He'd fallen asleep on the floor, leaned up against a bulkhead. He grunted to stand, cradling Anakin carefully against him.

"What's happening?" Shmi asked, rising from her bed lethargically. Ben carefully returned Anakin to her arms, and she began pre-emptively shushing him, bouncing him up and down to keep him at least somewhat content.

"I'm not sure, it sounds as if-"

" _Master Kenobi. Master Kenobi, come in!"_

"Commander?" Ben answered in some confusion, "what's happened?"

" _It's the hutt you got those parts from, sir,"_ Ben's looked up wide-eyed at Shmi, whose face was draining of color. " _It's followed us. Got a small army with it too, sir."_

He really should've seen it coming. Ben swallowed, ears gone deaf to Anakin's cries. "I will go and speak with her. No one else leaves this ship, you understand?"

" _Sir. I'll send reinforcements."_

"No, commander, I will go alone. If she has a quarrel it is with me and me alone. I will not endanger anyone else today." He'd already done enough.

" _But sir, surely-"_

"That's an order, Commander."

" _Of… of course, Master Jedi. Good luck, sir."_

Ben paused, and then brought up his comm again. "Be that as it may… inform the bridge to raise whatever shields they've got left, and prime any operational guns."

" _Uh, yes sir… but… this is a freighter."_

Ah. He was too used to working aboard star destroyers. Still. "…whatever they've got, Commander."

" _I understand."_

He let the connection drop and escorted Shmi and Anakin to a roomful of mothers and children who'd been given priority in the safer parts of the ship. Luckily, Shmi spoke Ryl, albeit patchily, and was able to put on a strong face when Ben left her.

"You'll not go back to Gardulla, that I swear on my life," Ben told her. He eyed the twi'lek around her guiltily, even though they could not understand. "None of you."

As he marched toward the landing ramp, Ben adjusted his commlink to a farther frequency, as far as he could reach. "This is Jedi Master Ben Kenobi," he broadcasted on the Republic emergency line, so close but so very far away, "requesting immediate emergency evacuation of Rylothian ship _Juclima;_ Arkanis sector, Tatoo system. Coordinates five nine aught two by six six eight one five. We are under an active threat level two. Ship nonnavigable. Please hurry."

The twi'lek crew were now guardsmen, hastily outfitted with freighter tools for weapons and safety gear as armor. They stood at sloppy attention to see their Jedi ally off the ship. Ben lifted the hood of his cloak and stepped off board.

Gardulla's antigrav float tossed clouds of sand into the air as she sailed into view, flanked by four dozen massive gamorrean guards and a sprinkling of heavy artillery. Ben pursed his lips and stepped forward, resisting the urge to draw his saber.

* * *

"Gardulla," He said, a warning in his voice. "I thought Hutts of all people knew how to honor a bet."

«Your bet has turned sour, Jedi!»

"I'm sure your friends on Nal Hutta will be interested to hear tell of your unwillingness to stand by a fair loss," The Negotiator threatened. Gardulla roared.

«Fair! Your stakes were a lie. You swindled me! I am here to take back what is rightfully mine,» She waved a signal, and three ion canons honed in on him in an instant. «And to take that which you owe me, Jedi slime.»

Ben let out a breath, heartbeat counting seconds. As one, the canons fired, converging in an explosion of incendiary and sand. Half a second later, a Jedi fell from the sky with a whirling blue saber in hand. The hutt cursed, and her guards fell into line to siege their opponent en force.

But Ben Kenobi had conquered these dunes long ago. He'd always wondered if he could use these katas on a receptive audience.

* * *

Lightyears away, Alara Dahn stiffened in her seat.

"Level one," she said. The Herdessen pilot turned to look at her. "Master Dahn?"

"Their active threat has just escalated to a level one. I'm sure of it."

The captain blinked away his skepticism and nodded. He flicked on the comm. "Red fleet, be advised we are now in AT1, repeat, AT1." He turned to his crew. "Shields up, guns hot. I want an escort on every evac shuttle. Has anyone made contact with Master Kenobi?"

"No sir."

"Course not. What's he up to?" the captain grumbled over his controls.

"As I said sir, AT level one," Alara leaned forward, hand going subconsciously to her saber. "I have a feeling that Master Kenobi is rather busy at the moment."

* * *

Once this was all over, he really needed to reconsider how much he actually valued having a fringe.

Ben blew hair up out of his eyes and swung his saber in a mad one two three, turn, four five, flip, slash, elbow – six step sequence to deflect blaster fire. Gamorreans were incredibly dimwitted creatures, but they made up for their challenged mental faculties with sheer persistency. Point in fact: he'd already lobbed this one's arm off, but here he was again – and wielding a blaster, no less. Ben cut the gun in half and knocked the squealing warrior to the ground.

His comm chirped at him for the seventh time in as many minutes. _"Master Kenobi? Master Kenobi, come in."_

"Oh for stars' sake!" He whirled, ignoring the voice. What was it about fighting in an active warzone that invited people to call him every three seconds?

" _Master Kenobi, this is Herdessen Admiral Taivak Shon, we are on our way. What is your status?"_

Oh, well about time then. After completing a textbook quality _jung ma,_ Ben slammed his hand down on his commlink to clumsily open the frequency. He really must invest in a proper comm gauntlet again. He'd forgotten how handy it'd been.

"I don't have time to talk," he huffed, skewering another assailant before he himself could suffer the same fate, "just follow the coordinates of this call."

" _Master Kenobi, what is your status? I hear saberplay."_

"Ahsoka – ah," he shook his head to clear dusty memories, "Alara, sorry, is that you?"

" _What, didn't think I'd track you down? Yes, it's me. What is your current status? Do you require assistance? Aid?"_

"No no, that won't be necessary," He managed to lob off two arms at once, and felt bad about it. "I'm very nearly done here."

" _I see. And… what are you doing, master?"_

Ben shrugged. He couldn't explain over a comm, let alone while taking on an angry hutt's squadron by himself. It had been a _long_ day. "Negotiating," he sufficed, a declaration punctuated by a well-meant pommelling. Alara paused on the other end.

" _Duly noted, Master Kenobi. We're coming in now. May the Force be with you."_

* * *

When Ben had dispatched the last of Gardulla's warriors, the Herdessen fleet was just coming into view in the atmosphere.

"You must concede your defeat, Gardulla, whether on the sabaac table or on the battlefield. Both have been fair, on my honor."

«Now, you are going to kill me?» Gardulla guessed, poised to defend herself, though Ben could not tell how.

"No," He huffed, tired in body and spirit. He replaced his saber at his belt. "It is not my place as a Jedi nor as a victor. You've paid your debt to me, now concede defeat and you will never see me again."

Gardulla drew up her massive head and looked down at him. After a long while, she waved a huge dismissive arm. «You are not worth it, Jedi. Go die in some other corner of the galaxy.» Which was about as warm a goodbye as he'd ever get from a hutt.

By the time Admiral Shon and his fleet had landed on the surface, Gardulla and her float were long gone. This left Ben Kenobi standing alone amidst a gamorrean slaughter, sandy, sweaty, robes charred and pockmarked with holes left by blaster fire. While the majority of the Herdessan shuttles diverted to the ship itself, a small fighter landed nearby Ben. The ramp lowered and half a dozen armed Herdessens poured out, followed by Alara Dahn.

"Master Kenobi," She greeted, looking genuinely relieved to see him again. She came closer, looking around at the carnage with a carefully tamed expression. "Can we assist you with anything here?"

Ben turned to look back at the battleground for himself. He must look a sight, alone among this mess. But it couldn't be helped. After a moment of thought, he turned back to the newcomers and said, "I've lost my cloak. If you spot it, I'd be grateful to have it back. In the meantime," even he would admit that he was wavering on his feet a bit, "I might go sit down for a bit."

He fell asleep in the back of the shuttle.

They woke him on board another, much larger ship for a debriefing with Admiral Shon, to whom he gave only the barest of details. Ben was sure news of his "bluff" would make its rounds to the higher ups in Herdessen government sooner or later, but he'd prefer to not present ammunition for his own admonishment. He'd get enough of that from the Jedi Council.

Thinking about the Council his head ache, so he diverted efforts to other problems. He retrieved his cloak from the evac team, despite the fact that it was shredded to pieces and entirely useless. He commed Senator Bail Organa, who was ecstatic to hear the news that no one had been harmed in the _Juclima's_ debacle, and pleasantly open to Ben's last-minute ideas.

Finally, he set out to locate Shmi and Anakin. They'd been swept up in the excitement of the evacuation, but would need assistance passing through customs. It took Ben nearly two hours of asking up and down the flagship for the proper boarding records, but eventually he found the Skywalker's names jotted in on the roster of a small shuttle elsewhere in the fleet. He would have to wait to meet them on the landing dock.

In the meantime, he had the treat to hear the Herdessen's accolades of Alara, who'd taken control beautifully in Ben's absence. According to multiple accounts, it'd been pure bedlam on Herdessa following the Juclima's unplanned departure, but Alara had rallied the troops and pulled together a plan with a rare grace befitting her station. She held her own, organizing the ongoing evacuations while forming a rescue team simultaneously. A diplomat she may not have been, but Alara was a natural born leader. It was remarkable to see the trust she'd fostered among the crew in the short two days that Ben had been away. He couldn't help it when his heart swelled with pride. He'd called her Ahsoka by mistake earlier. Perhaps that was why she'd felt so familiar to him all this time, he thought. She was the wishful manifestation of something he'd never gotten to see.

He shook away these cogitations when the automated overhead voice announced that they were making their final descent.

Ben was among the first off the ship when it landed. Quietly handing the baton of authority to Alara, (whom he now knew could handle it beautifully) he jogged to meet the Skywalkers before they disembarked.

"Ben," Shmi smiled – the first time he'd seen her smile, Ben realized – when she saw him. Then she frowned. "What happened to you?"

"Ah," he glanced down at his ruined robes. "Aggressive negotiations, I'm afraid. All is well." He glanced at Anakin, who was dead asleep, and smiled. "Not just for me, I see."

Shmi smiled again as she stepped down the ramp. Her face cleared and she looked past Ben to the hectic landing yard around her, up at the gleaming spacescrapers of the Herdessen capitol. Her eyes stuck on the horizon, where just beyond the haze of the atmosphere, grassy mountains rose from the earth. He followed her gaze and turned his eyes to watch her expression, giving her a moment to absorb the sight of green. Then, he gently put a hand to her back. "This way," he directed.

He found the spot he was looking for, away from the bustling lines toward customs and off the main loading docks. "We'll wait here. He should be along shortly."

"Who?"

"A friend."

Shmi nodded, and adjusted Anakin so the sunlight wouldn't wake him. She closed her eyes and savored the breeze. She was like this when Bail Organa approached from beyond the customs barrier.

"Master Kenobi," He beamed, eyeing the bedraggled Jedi with a glint in his eye. "You are a sight for sore eyes. You've had quite a few days, I'd wager."

Ben laughed. "That I have. Bail Organa, meet Shmi Skywalker. Shmi, this is Senator Bail Organa of Alderaan."

At the word 'Senator', Shmi's eyes went wide. "Sir," she said, falling into a deep curtsey. Bail look embarrassed and took her elbow to help her up.

"Please, miss, Bail is my name." He gave her a disarming smile and she nodded quietly. He looked down at Anakin's sleeping face and broke into an irrepressible grin. Behind him, Ben smiled knowingly. Bail had always had a soft spot for children. "And who is this?"

"Anakin, my son."

"I see. Well then, welcome to the Republic, Anakin." Bail nodded at the sleeping babe, and then looked back at his mother. "Master Kenobi has briefed me on your… situation. If you have no objections, I will sponsor you for immigration to Alderaan, my homeworld. You can become a Republic citizen there, move there if you like, or anywhere else, once you have citizenship."

"I…" Shmi had no way to articulate the feeling in her chest. "I… _of course_ I have no objections. Thank you, sir," she breathed, lost for eloquence. Thankfully, Bail seemed to understand.

"Right this way, miss Skywalker."

Shmi cast a look back at Ben, who waved her on encouragingly. They escorted her safely through customs, and Shmi Skywalker made her first steps onto Republic soil as a free woman. All around, twi'lek were excitedly dancing on their new home soil, families reuniting, pilots congratulating each other on a crisis well averted. Shmi was standing alone, beaming sweet nothings down at her son when Ben approached once more. She turned to greet him.

"I cannot repay you for what you've done for me," she said. "For us." He smiled warmly at her.

"Which is as it should be. You will like Alderaan, it's one of the most beautiful worlds in the Core. Speaking of…" Ben reached into a pocket and produced a handful of credit chips. "These are for you. To start a new life."

Only after they were in her hand did Shmi realize how much each was worth. Her eyes went wide. "This is… this is too much." She tried to shove them back at Ben, but he raised his hands as if in defense. She held them out in the air between them, baffled. "I can't… you said you spent your money on ship parts."

Ben shrugged. "Gardulla Besedii drives a hard bargain. Talented warrior and diplomat as I am, who's to say that I wasn't coerced into bribing her into cooperation after that debacle on Tatooine?" He gave her a wink. "I leave it in far greater hands than that of a hutt."

Shmi's shoulders slumped. She looked fit to cry. She did not. "I… Thank you, Ben." She felt as though she was repeating herself too much to be properly understood, so she pocketed the credits and threw her free arm around his neck.

The gesture took Ben aback, but he smiled and returned the hug gently, careful of Anakin's small body between them. He heard Shmi sniffle against his hood, shaking with repressed emotion. "There now," he comforted, wrapping both arms around the girl. "You're free. That is the best reward I or anyone could ask for." She drew back and wiped at her eyes.

"I've… I've never been free, you know," she laughed, nigh hysterical with delight and relief. She held Anakin to her chest. "But now my son will be free, too."

"Yes," Ben smiled, a bittersweet feeling. He looked down at Anakin and saw everything he'd been sent back for - but perhaps not for the reasons he wanted most. "Shmi," He said, and after a second of hesitation, took up both of her hands in his own. "Shmi, your son is very special," he told her. How to communicate the weight of his words? "Unprecedented." She looked down at the infant now, slumbering face framed by her hands and those of a Jedi Master. She looked back up at Ben with different tears in her eyes.

"You want to take him away, after all?"

"No," Ben shook his head to dispel her fears. "No, Anakin will stay with you. He will be a great man one day, a great son to you. But… know that he could make a great Jedi – the greatest, I'm certain." At her look of hesitation, he gave her hands a squeeze and added, "I do not say this lightly, Shmi. He will grow in power every day. He will need a guide. If you… if you find yourself in need of help or guidance, contact the Jedi Order. We love our younglings as a family. He would be welcomed with open arms."

He could feel her resistance to the idea of separation, but something in her ached for Anakin's wellbeing above all. "When would I have to decide?" She asked, tearing up again. It had been an emotional day, after all. Ben felt horrible for having to tell her all of this in such a rush.

"Not now. The Order usually accepts children from infancy up to about three years old, for humans. Don't fret, Shmi, but… do keep it in mind." He gave her hand another squeeze. "He is as strong as his mother. He will live well wherever the Force leads him."

At the sound of his name, Ben glanced up to where Alara was waving for his attention. He let go of Shmi's hands. "I must go. Safe travels to Alderaan – you will like it there, I think." He glanced down at Anakin and could only pray to the Light that he would see the child again one day. "As will you, young Anakin." He brushed a finger over the sleeping boy's brow. "Be good to your mother." He looked back up to Shmi and brushed her elbow. "Take care of yourself."

She look fit to burst with a million emotions. She nodded at him, choking on words and tears and laughter. He turned to go, but she stopped him before he was too far off:

"Ben?"

He turned.

"May the Force be with you."

He smiled at her and bowed lowly, as if to a master.

* * *

At the final debriefings with Alara and the Senators, Ben hardly spoke at all. Perhaps owing to his haggard, battle-worn appearance, they did not rely on his attention very heavily, for which he was grateful. He found himself falling into a brood even as they tied up loose ends and said their goodbyes.

He only came back to the present when Bail Organa arrived to bid him farewell.

"I cannot express my gratitude, Master Kenobi," the young senator said, accentuating his handshake with a hand on Ben's shoulder.

"Nor I, Senator. You have great things ahead of you. I look forward to watching your career in the years to come."

Bail's eyes shone with boyish elation, but he curbed it to a more businesslike, "I shall look for you along the way, Master Kenobi."

Ben smiled. "In the meantime, take care of yourself, Bail, and may the Force be with you."

"And also with you, Master."

The repetitious phrase stuck in his mind long after he'd boarded the small republic shuttle back to Coruscant, long after Alara had begun tapping out her council report in silence, casting him looks and waiting for him to do the same.

But in his state of mind, ben couldn't think of reports and councils and consequences. His mind was awash in the words of Alara, of Shmi, of Bail, of everyone he'd ever known. _May the_ _Force be with you._ The Force was with him; his life was a testament to that. This mission was a testament to that.

But when, if ever, should a Jedi ask if he was with the Force? Ben pulled up his hood and leaned back in his chair. Images of gamorreans and twi'lek danced before his eyes, accentuated by the image of himself as a slave trader, selling a boy who might never become a Jedi, might yet become a sith.

 _Force help me,_ he thought. Slipping or not, he could no longer tell. _Force, catch me._


	14. Consequences

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters in as many days. Don't expect this in the future, I'm just getting in as much writing as I can before school and my new job start. Enjoy!

"Let us review for the record, Master Kenobi," Mace Windu said, looking past the two Jedi before him and out the window to some point on Coruscant where, doubtless, there were people going about their day in far better moods than he. "On this _purely diplomatic_ mission, you managed to take sides in a Senatorial committee, conspire with a Galactic Senator to sabotage a ship carrying thirty thousand unprocessed refugees to crash onto the sovereign world of Herdessa _,_ and used this scheme to coerce three more Galactic Senators into signing a bill they would not have otherwise seen into law."

Ben had his eyes trained on the wall above Master Windu's head in an expression of battle-hardened indifference. "That is correct."

"And you allowed this, Knight Dahn?" Mace asked the togruta standing next to Ben, whose expression was neither battle hardened nor indifferent. She had to swallow and clear her throat before saying quietly,

"Yes, Master Windu."

"Why?"

"I… I trusted Master Kenobi's judgment, Master."

Mace stared at her, drew in a breath, and released it. In a show of bravery, she did not flinch. The Master of the Order's iron glare returned to Ben. "And is it also true that following the conclusion of negotiations, a second ship carrying twenty-two thousand refugees _also_ fell to the surface of Herdessa, the evacuation of which was delayed because response teams were busy working with the ship which you had sabotaged during your _lunch break_."

"Yes, Master Windu." Ben's face was unreadable. Beside him, Alara was close to cracking.

"And in an attempt to save this vessel, you stole a speeder, commandeered a virtually inoperable refugee ship, and somehow managed to send it back into hyperspace, crashing eleven shuttles in the process-"

Ben tipped his chin to interrupt, "as I'm sure I made clear in my report, masters, the _Juclima's_ hyperspace jump was made entirely at the behest of faulty navigational equipment and is in no way-"

"And crash landed on the Outer Rim world of Tatooine," Mace continued, raising his voice over Ben's protests, "Where you sought repairs in the territory of the known hutt crimelord Gardulla, whereupon you endangered the life of a Herdessan official, attempted to bribe a hutt with Order funds, and ultimately won your freedom and repairs in an incredibly high stakes game of _sabaac."_

Well, when you put it like _that._ "Yes," Ben said. He could feel Alara's eyes swivel in place to look at him in pure shock. He hadn't given her many details about his holiday to Tatooine. He was flattered now to sense that she was impressed with him. Mace Windu sensed the silent exchange as well, and his glare intensified. The korun master took a deep, bracing breath for the home stretch.

"Not quite twelve hours later, said hutt returned to exact vengeance on you and your ship, and in order to dissuade her you spent nearly half of your allowance as a bribe for her to surrender, an amount which she accepted but a surrender which she did not." His business like tone was slipping in frustration. "And then you tied up loose ends by single handedly slaughtering fifty gamorrean guards, chasing the hutt away from the ship, and, lest we forget, destroying the robes and cloak leant to you by the quartermaster."

A pause. Ben glanced at Master Yoda, who at this point in such proceedings would usually have his cane perched up in front of his mouth, trying to hide a wry grin. But that was the past – in the here and now, Yoda had his claws folded serenely in his lap, gimlet eyes burning with a severe frown as he stared down the time traveller. Ben gulped.

"Is this an accurate summary, _Master_ Kenobi?" Mace spat bitterly.

The emphasis on his title made Ben's eyes shoot up to his accuser. He could almost see the temptation bubbling behind Mace's eyes. It would be easy to slip into the more familiar _Padawan Kenobi._ Ben bristled under the scrutiny and insult. "Yes, Master Windu."

In his years as a knight and later as a councilor, Ben had learned to read the mannerisms of each member of the council, Mace in particular. He knew that the number of seconds that fell between his final affirmation and Mace Windu's next inhalation of breath would give him a decent indication of how much trouble he was in, with one being none at all and five being guaranteed censure. Ben counted to seven before Mace inhaled and turned to Alara.

"Knight Dahn, you are dismissed. We will review your individual report later."

"Yes, Master Windu," She bowed to him, and then to the other masters. She cast a last look at Ben before retreating to the councilroom doors, proverbial tail between her legs.

As soon as the doors latched shut, Ben said: "I trust the council has read my review of Alara's behavior; she acted admirably under dire circumstances and saved countless lives on Herdessa. My own actions ought not reflect on-"

"You will speak when the council has prompted you to do so, Master Kenobi," Mace spat, and Ben actually took a half step back, feeling as though he'd been slapped in the face.

Ben was used to the frustration, the eyerolls, to Mace's glares and sighs and clipped warnings. He'd always been a credit to Qui-Gon's teachings – a rebel through and through, deserving of a good rap on the knuckles now and again. But this pure _hostility_ was something entirely foreign. This was not something he'd seen at Qui-Gon's side, not a consequence he'd ever earned from his own misadventures.

Ben felt his wit shrivel in the light of exposure. The buffer of Alara's presence was gone, leaving him alone with the only people in the galaxy who knew who he actually was, a roomful of interrogative glares. He looked down at his feet. "Of course, masters," he said, voice much smaller than before.

Silence. A code of looks passed around the room, but Ben was too frozen to decipher their meaning. "Disturbing reports from Herdessa, we have received," Master Yoda spoke up at last. "Private Teran Orr, your accomplice on Tatooine, spoken with him we have."

Ben said nothing. Yoda's eyes bore into him. "Gamble with sentient lives a Jedi does _not,_ Obi-Wan."

His name had never stung quite like that. Ben ducked his head centimeters more. "No, Master."

"Anything to say for yourself you have?"

Ben closed his eyes, knowing that in the end, he had no excuse. Still, he made himself say, "The Force guided me, masters." Silent outrage, as expected. "I can claim no other."

The grandmaster made no immediate reply. Ki Adi, Saesee, Mace, and others all seemed fit to offer their scathing wisdom, but Yoda still had the floor. He continued to peer at his great grandpadawan with stern admonishment and, though Ben could not have seen it while looking at the marble floor, curiosity as well. "Led you to such a gamble the Force did? A bold claim it is."

Ben blinked rapidly, wishing he had a better answer. "Yes, Master."

"In his report, Private Orr referred to it as a bluff," Adi Gallia prompted. Ben looked up at her.

"Did he?"

"Does that surprise you?"

It gave him pause, at least. He did not answer and looked back down. Adi pursed her lips and watched him with growing concern.

"All for a girl and an infant?" Saesee Tiin leaned forward, baffled by Ben's line of reasoning.

Ben closed his eyes in shame as he said, "Yes, Master."

"You did not include their names in your report," Ki Adi reminded the room. Ben bit his lip.

"No."

Yoda leaned forward and the councilors held their thoughts in deference to the grandmaster. Eventually, the small green one said, "The slave girl and child. Know them you do."

Ben breathed in and breathed out. How had he arrived here? It had just been a mission. A simple diplomatic mission, to ease him back into things. That's what they'd meant, anyway. How had things gone so awry? "Yes, Master."

"From your past they are."

"Yes, Master."

"Hmm." Yoda rubbed his chin. "Important are they?"

Ben almost laughed for the sheer absurdity of the question. "Very."

Yoda nodded, as if this did not surprise him. Mace glanced from Yoda to Ben, eyes still stern and unyielding. The mood of the room stirred into frustration, curiosity, and skepticism. Eventually Yoda continued, "Where are they now?"

"Safe," Ben looked up, mustering courage for the sake of Anakin's future. "In all due respect masters, in full recognition of my fault before the council… it is better that no one – not even me – know of their exact status. The fact that they are off of Tatooine is the only matter of importance right now."

"So all-knowing you are, Master Kenobi?" Yoda accused. Ben thinned his lips.

"No, master. But I trust in the Force."

"Hmm." It was difficult to interpret the tenor of his hum. "Clear, was your path?"

"No, master."

"And yet continue forth, you did, blindly, rashly."

"As we all must, Master. The Force will guide us despite our limitations."

They were Qui-Gon's words, and the councilors that recognized them made minute, exasperated noises. Mace remained unnervingly still in his seat, watching Ben's every move with a vapaad fire behind his eyes. Ben wished very desperately for the session to end.

"Speak like your master, you do," Yoda said.

"Indeed," Said Mace in a far more bitter tone. The Master of the Order sat up straight to speak, and the other members shuffled in their seats, puffing the air with imminent formality. Ben braced himself for their verdict. The lack of silent deliberation told Ben that his punishment had been weighed and measured long before he'd even stepped foot in the room. He clasped his hands obediently in front of him and waited for the killing blow.

"Ben Kenobi, this council finds you in contempt of your mission mandate and standards of this Order. You have flaunted political protocol, engaged in behavior completely unbefitting of your title, and recklessly endangered thousands of sentient lives to serve your own ends."

His own _ends?_ Ben felt a flare of anger. If Mace knew, if he could even _fathom_ what Ben knew, he wouldn't _dare._ If any of them sensed his aggression, they said nothing – though Ben thought he could see Yoda sending him a disapproving look.

"For these reasons among many, the council has decided to place you under formal censure." Which was no real surprise. "Until the council repeals this order, you will not be assigned to any missions or duties. You will not be allowed any funds not required by basic necessities. You will not be allowed to leave the temple except with the approval of a council member. You will be removed from your position as saber instructor, and will not be allowed to teach in any other capacity until the council rules otherwise."

Ben clenched his jaw. None of it was surprising – though his removal as saber instructor seemed extraneous; it was meant to be a painful pill to swallow. Ben mustered dignity. "And when might the council do that, Master Windu?" He asked as politely and evenly as he could. Mace's stare was merciless.

"Nine months."

Ben's eyebrows shot up, and it took a massive feat of willpower to keep from looking as stricken as he felt. A formal censure usually lasted six months. A year-long censure was reserved for truly egregious errs - not even Qui-Gon had ever earned one of those. Nine months was a mark of shame across his chest, a warning that he was toing a thin and dangerous line. And for what? His first mission? How had this happened?

He took a steadying breath. "I see."

"Good." Mace stood with a brutal lack of ceremony. "The council is dismissed."

Ben turned to leave, but Mace stopped and glared him back into his spot. _"You_ are not."

Master Yoda hadn't budged, Ben realized. He watched in deepening dread as the other councilors filtered out of the room one by one until only it was only he and the grandmaster in the high council chambers. He waited for the smaller Jedi to speak.

Eventually, Yoda sighed and clambered out of his chair. With a wave of his claw, the window shades dimmed the room to a soft ambiance. It reminded Ben of Yoda's chambers where he'd often counseled him as a boy. Yoda lowered himself to the hard floor. "Sit down, Obi-Wan."

There was that name again. It was his, but hearing it made him hurt because in truth of fact, "I am not Obi-Wan, Master."

"You _are_ ," Yoda insisted snippishly. "An old and obtuse version of Qui-Gon's pupil you are. Now sit down, padawan _._ "

Ben did as he was told, crossing his legs under himself to face Master Yoda in the middle of the council chamber. The ancient Jedi squinted at him, mouth set in a disappointed line, restraint keeping him silent for several long moments.

"Disturbed you are," He decided eventually.

Ben let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. "Yes, master."

"Why?"

He looked away. "My decision haunts me. When I… when I bet the lives of all of those refugees, I…" He looked around the room, as if lost, and shook his head. "It was as if I had no choice in the matter. It was as if the words just… just _happened_ without my discretion. I was not in control."

"In control of you, the Force was?"

"Yes – no." Ben shrugged helplessly. "I don't know, master. I couldn't… couldn't sense it. Perhaps afterward, the fact that I made it through, the Force must have been with me. But… in the moment…"

"What did you feel?"

"Mortified. I couldn't believe myself, that I would do such a thing."

" _Before_ you spoke, what did you feel?" Yoda clarified, closing his ancient eyes to allow Ben time to ponder it.

Ben cast his mind back, reliving the smoke, the uncertainty, the cards. He remembered he'd been expertly organizing a time-tested strategy just before. He'd been breathing easily, thinking clearly. But then his focus had been shattered by the all-consuming sound of Anakin's cry.

After that, there was little else to remember but the noise, the noose of memory around his mind, the daggers in his heart that ripped old wounds open afresh at the sound of a name. In the rush of blood and adrenaline, he'd been able to think of nothing but the fact that he could, in an instant, change everything. It was his calling, his existence, it was the Force. But if there had been other instructions hiding within that microcosm, he hadn't been able to hear them because his heart had been stabbing his soul with every beat, chanting _now_ _now now -_ demanding action, demanding change, pressing a dagger to his throat held by the icy fist of…

"Fear," Ben said. The word echoed softly off the empty walls and reverberated back to him. Master Yoda opened his eyes slowly. Ben looked to the revered master with a disturbed expression. "I… I acted on fear."

"Careful you must be, young Kenobi," the master warned. "Guide you the Force will, but _listen,_ you must."

"I…" he had no excuse. He ducked his head. "I will try, master."

"Do or do not, there is no try." Ben smiled thinly at the familiar, infuriating phrase. "Made up your mind was before you spoke, before played your first card you had. Trust the Force, you must. Trust not your emotions and your memory of what was, what is no longer."

"Is _no longer?"_ Ben burst suddenly, from some depth of feeling he hadn't consciously consulted, "Master, it's happening right now. I was sent back here to _do_ something, to change things, not to sit by and _watch._ The future, it's… it's… I will not stand idly by and let the galaxy make the same mistakes all over again and damn itself to the fires of-"

" _Control yourself,_ you will!" Yoda swung his cane at Ben's knee at a particularly smarting angle. Thus drawn from his tirade, Ben leaned back and breathed. Yoda watched as the remorse spread over his face. The green one sighed. "A horrible future, yes. Know this I did as soon as you appeared. Why else would the Force bring you here, hmm? But tread carefully you must, Obi-Wan. Fear, you feel. Anger, you feel. Merited these emotions may be, but never of the Light, they are."

"Fear leads to anger," how many times had he said these words to Anakin, and in vain? "Anger leads to hate."

"Yes. Know this well, you do."

Yoda took a moment to study Ben more closely, recalling to mind their earlier discussions. Ben wondered to himself if Yoda had anticipated a catastrophe of this magnitude when he'd suggested Ben for active duty. Perhaps he regretted the decision. But if he did, the grandmaster said nothing of it. Instead, he told Ben earnestly, "Wise you are. Strong. Formidable your demons must be." Ben did not trust himself to speak on that, but his expression was answer enough. Yoda's face melted into something of pity. "Mmm. Medidate on this, I will."

Ben bowed from where he sat. "As will I, master."

Yoda nodded decisively. After a pause of transition, he said, "Talk of this further, we will. But later. Go now. Grown weary of caring for your plants, young Obi-Wan has. Fear they will replace him, he does."

Ben actually smiled at that. He stood and bowed again. "Thank you, Master." Yoda only nodded and waved a dismissal.

Ben was nearly to the door when Yoda, who'd closed his eyes for meditation right there in the council chamber, said: "Mention an oddity Knight Dahn did, in her report."

Ben paused and glanced over his shoulder. "And what was that, Master?"

"Called her by the wrong name, you did. Multiple times, she claims." The master looked up. "Who is Ahsoka?"

The question took Ben by surprise. He knew he'd done it at least once – but… how many more times had he called her that and not realized? Two? Ten? He considered Yoda's curious face. Only Yoda would hear him now. And Yoda, troll that he was, was perhaps the only Jedi currently alive who seemed genuinely interested in helping Ben. He hesitated but ultimately decided to let down his guard. "She was my grandpadawan," he said plainly. "Alara reminds me of her a great deal."

Yoda absorbed this information silently, and Ben sensed rather than saw the master's surprise at the notion of Ben being old enough to have a grandpadawan. The taller man waited, expecting some profound comment about forgetting the past and accepting the here and now, but Yoda only grunted and said, "Hmm. A handful, she must have been."

Ben smiled in a moment of pure fondness. "Oh, you have no idea."

* * *

He'd spent his evening alone, meditating. That's how he'd planned to spend most of his night, too, but half past twenty-first hour there was a knock at his door. He frowned, wondering who would want to call on him so late at night. He wasn't in the mood.

"It's not locked," he said anyway, not opening his eyes. The door slid open and Ben was surprised to feel the tall, calm presence of Qui-Gon Jinn enter the apartment. The door hissed shut behind him.

"I can't believe you're still in one piece," the taller man commented, setting something down on the table. Ben opened his eyes to see his woosha plant – just slightly bigger than last he'd seen it – returned to its place. Qui-Gon was smiling, that tiny, microscopic smirk that he thought no one could see under his mustache.

"And why in the galaxy would you say that?" Ben put on an air of indifference as he unfolded his legs from the lotus pose.

"Well," Qui-Gon offered, going around to the kitchenette and putting the kettle on without asking. "I happened by Mace Windu after evening meal,"

"Oh, Force," Ben hissed under his breath. Qui-Gon's smirk grew infinitesimally wider as he continued,

"He told me about today's session."

Ben heaved a sigh. "What about it?"

Qui-Gon took his time, crumbling tealeaves into a pot with care. "If he wasn't already convinced that you were once my apprentice, he certainly is now." He eyed Ben's reaction, which amounted to a chagrined purse of the lips. After he'd finished with the teapot, the master leaned back tilted his head. "If memory serves, his exact words were 'Qui-Gon, he's worse than you, how in the nine hells can he be worse than you', or something to that effect."

Ben huffed out a smile in spite of himself, and Qui-Gon chuckled. Ben had forgotten how much the baritone sound comforted him. "My deepest condolences," he said, standing at the sound of the whistling kettle. "Your apprentice has turned into an insubordinate prick."

"I was going to offer my congratulations." Qui-Gon turned around to say as Ben brought the hot water to the table for tea. "If you've done it properly, you might even make it into one of Master Tembo's lectures."

Ben chuckled as he poured the water. "Ah yes. How _not_ to oversee senatorial negotiations," He coined. Qui-Gon nodded with a grin.

"Precisely."

Ben prepared their tea in the traditional way, just as Qui-Gon had taught him to years ago. Qui-Gon watched the familiar dance with more ease than he had in weeks prior. His relationship with Ben was still in its formational stage, made awkward because of their one-sided history. They were unable to relate completely as master and apprentice, but more and more the language of their peculiar past snuck into the present. Against all expectation, seeing his own traditions ingrained so intimately with Ben's routine was now a source of calm for Qui-Gon.

He waited until they'd both taken their first sips to say, "I was sorry to hear about the censure. Nine months is taking it a bit far."

Ben shrugged. "Oh, no," He demurred, running a finger along the edge of his tea bowl. "I'll spare you the gory details, but believe me when I say I deserved it." He swirled his cup of tea, watching the spinning leaves at the bottom. After a moment he sighed and looked away.

Qui-Gon glanced about the apartment, taking in the dim lighting, lit incense, candles and well-indented meditation cushion. He turned back to watch Ben. Qui-Gon was fluent in the microexpressive language native to Obi-Wan's face, and upon examining the tilt of his eyelids and furrow in his brow, the master knew Ben was likely brooding on something too hard for his own good. But there was something else in the man's eyes that he'd never seen before. A phrase unique to Ben's own language, he supposed. He decided to proceed carefully.

"When we last spoke," he broke their companionable silence, sipping at his tea, "you were looking for something. Did you find it?"

Ben was lost in thought. It wasn't just tea leaves he saw as he stared into his cup. "Yes," He said, too sadly to make his master smile. "It's with the Force now."

Qui-Gon couldn't pretend to understand. With Obi-Wan, he would've tried. It would've ben his duty as his master. But with Ben… not every apprentice was the same. "The Force will guide us," He assured at length. It made Ben smile, remembering the exasperation of the council upon hearing that well-loved token of Qui-Gon Jinn. But what was to some exasperating was to others the comfort of an old embrace.

"Yes, it will." Ben said, looking away from his tea and up to his old master. How often had he longed for this? For companionship? To know Qui-Gon as an equal, a friend? He realized suddenly that he would be stuck at the temple a great deal during his house arrest, and that beyond his remaining time of leave, Qui-Gon would likely be around for nearly as long due to Obi-Wan's ongoing study cycle. Idly, Ben wondered if Yoda had considered this when he'd cast his vote. It sounded like something he would do. He shook the thoughts away and shrugged. "The Force works in mysterious ways."

"Indeed."

They drank their tea in silence, each quietly absorbing the not-quite familiar comfort of each other's presence. "So," Qui-Gon said eventually, while pouring their second cups of tea, "tell me about this saboteur job of yours – I hear you got Knight Dahn into quite a bit of trouble. You make a habit of involving your mission partners in conspiracy?"

Ben shrugged. "To be completely honest, I've more experience in being dragged along for the ride."

"At some point, the pupil must exceed the master," Qui-Gon commented mildly, which made Ben scoff.

"Please. You two have been to Genassa by now, haven't you?"

Qui-Gon affected not to know what mission he was talking about. "Your point?"

"Genassa _is_ my point."

"I only got six months for that," Qui-Gon retorted. Ben sent him a withering glare. Low blow. Qui-Gon dipped his head in silent apology. "Perhaps the council's knowledge of your lineage has cast you in a poor light."

"Hmm," Ben considered this. He'd never had problems with it in his past life – but perhaps here, with Qui-Gon still lighting fires every other day, the council was more sensitive to the issue. "Perhaps." A thought struck. "You know, if you and I were ever slated for a mission together, the council would have us expelled on the spot to save themselves the trouble of doing it later."

Qui-Gon smiled impishly. "Sounds like fun. Obi-Wan would hate it."

Ben chuckled at the irony. "Yes, he would. He really, really would."

They laughed together and drank tea, and for the night, Ben forgot to be afraid of the future.


	15. Backlash

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still a little unhappy with this one, but here you go. A huge thanks to my bud En-Shaedn, who is the only reason this got posted at all, and who helped named the newcomers.

Nine months was a very long time.

No, actually, that wasn't true. Nine months _wasn't_ a long time, and the fact that it wasn't was his present vexation. It was an absolute paradox how he, Obi-Wan Kenobi, could spend nineteen years of his life alone in the desert with the weight of the galaxy pressing down on his shoulders and never, in those nineteen years, have ever felt quite as _bored_ as he did now. Absently, Ben felt as though he owed an apology to every pregnant human woman in the universe.

He supposed it was the tranquility that got to him. It was absurd that tranquility could aggravate him so much, but Ben hadn't lived in a truly tranquil place a in a very long time. The quiet cocoon of the Jedi Temple was peaceful above all; despite the ruckus of training and daily bustling to and fro, there was a baseline of _still_ and _calm._ It had been heaven for a while. He could've voluntarily stayed for an eternity and he would've been happy about it.

But then they _made_ him stay for an eternity – nine months, but all was the same in the Force – and suddenly he was gnawing at the bars over the windows. It'd only been two weeks and Ben had spent most of it holed up in his rooms and, if he was feeling particularly annoyed about the quiet, in the salles. Qui-Gon had had the guts to accuse him of _moping._

The man was right, of course. This sort of behavior was indigenous to the crèche, where toddlers sulked about being put in time-out and glared at the walls out of spite. Ben knew this, but he ignored it. Out of spite.

His standoff of wills began to wear off after about two weeks, but his vexation over the stillness remained.

 _Fifty-four, fifty-five, fifty-six, fifty-seven, fifty-eight…_ Ben pulled himself up over the bar by his legs, arms behind his head. He'd taken to strength training over saberform today – fewer padawans stared at him this way.

Well, _most_ padawans.

"Master Kenobi!" Ben opened his eyes to see an upside-down Garen Muln and posse approaching him, smiling. He recognized most of the padawans from his saber class. "You're back!" Garen elbowed one of his friends and whispered, "Told you."

Ben let himself down from the wall and wiped sweat from his brow. "It's good to see you as well, Padawan Muln. What exactly am I back from?"

"Your mission!" The learner beamed. "Master Di has been teaching your class since you left. It'll be good to have you back, Master."

Oh.

Ben felt as though he would sink through the floor from the guilt. Garen's smile hurt his heart. "Ah, I see. Well, Garen…" He scratched the back of his neck. He saw some smiles in the crowd waver. Those padawans whom he knew to be gifted with foresight – which included his younger self, unfortunately - stopped smiling altogether. "I'm afraid I won't be teaching your saber class anymore. I won't be teaching any class, actually." Which was more painful a fact than Ben wanted to admit.

Garen's whole countenance fell. "What?" Shock became denial. "Why?"

Ben sighed. There was nothing more horrible than being faced with eighteen crestfallen younglings and knowing that their broken spirits were your fault. "I… the council has decided that I am not fit to teach."

A buzz of quiet, astonished voices. "But you're the best Soresu teacher we've had in ages – Master Drallig said so," Said Uli, her Rodian eyes tilted in disappointment. Ben tried to smile.

"And I'm grateful for the compliment. But I happen to know that Ima-Gun Di is an excellent swordsman. His knowledge of Niman far exceeds mine, you should be grateful for his insight." Uli nodded, but wilted a little. She was hoping to specialize in Soresu, Ben knew.

"But…" Garen's face was screwed up in thought, "why did the council _do_ that?"

Even Obi-Wan's face lit up in interest. Ben sighed heavily. Being reckless had its consequences in the Old Republic. He was unused to dealing with them. "There was an… incident during my mission. It prompted the council's decision. It's not up for discussion, I'm afraid."

A silent buzz of interest rippled through the Force, and Ben tried his best to ignore it. "What happened?" Asked one of the less tactful padawans. "Did you get hurt?" Ben heard someone whisper " _and do a full set of wall-stands? Not bloody likely."_

"It hardly matters what happened," Ben deflected, "The Council's decision stands. I am sorry, padawans. I wish you all the best in your studies." He gave a light bow, signaling the end of the discussion. Garen frowned as deeply as he dare in front of a master and turned away, shoulders slumped. The group meandered to a different part of the salles, where it looked as though they were preparing for a group exercise. Obi-Wan lingered.

"What did you _do?"_ He asked his older self, equal parts horror and awe in his voice. Ben looked down at him.

"Ask your master. He's probably read the file by now."

Obi-Wan shook his head. "He tells me it's been classified."

Ben's brows shot up. "Has it?"

Obi-Wan nodded.

"Hmm."

They stared at each other. When the look of expectation did not leave Obi-Wan's face, Ben sighed and crossed his arms. "I acted incredibly recklessly. The Council has seen fit to put me under censure – what? Don't look at me like that, you're Qui-Gon's apprentice for Force's sake."

Obi-Wan was recovering from his horror. "Censure… for how long?" He asked.

"Nine months."

The horror returned twofold. Ben resisted the urge to roll his eyes. The master was not ashamed to admit that he enjoyed Obi-Wan's company. But sometimes… he had to wonder if he'dactually ever been this… _prudish._ "Does anyone _know?_ " the scandalized apprentice asked. Ben was ready for the (quite literal) self-embarrassment to end.

"I'm sure they'll find out eventually. Padawans do gossip." Ben growled, turning away from his younger self to hoist himself up on the bar. "Don't you have a class to attend?"

With nothing else to say, Obi-Wan turned back to his class, leaving his older self to shirk tranquility through exercise.

_Fifty-nine, sixty, sixty-one, sixty-two…_

* * *

Three days later, things came to a head when Ben nearly took someone's arm off.

The council had never issued any edict that would keep Ben from the training dojos, (and even if they had, he would have ignored it) so he spent a great deal of his time there. He practiced his dune katas, gave pointers to students, and humored any master or senior padawan looking for a challenge. Most of his engagements ended in victory, but he accepted them graciously. Ruthless and cunning he may have been, but it could never be said that Ben Kenobi was not a gentleman in combat.

But then Pong Krell walked in the door.

Ben had not been there on Umbara when Krell betrayed the 501st, nor had he personally seen the pure Dark in him that Rex and the others reported afterwards. But he remembered having not been surprised, because Pong Krell had been a grey presence in the Force for as long as Obi-Wan had been acquainted with him. He'd rarely been on Coruscant, and he'd rarely stayed for very long. That Ben remembered, and he remembered Qui-Gon telling him as a young man that it was because the council did not trust Pong Krell – not in the same way they did not trust Qui-Gon. Pong Krell made them nervous, and rightly so.

But he was damned good at what he did. So the council kept him occupied with their greyest missions in the most distant sectors, giving him as little time as possible to return to the unadulterated Temple where he could corrupt the peace. But once in a long while, he'd burst onto the scene and everyone would grit their teeth until he left.

But Ben Kenobi, unused to this unspoken ritual and biting at the bars of his cage of tranquility, leaped at the opportunity.

He wasn't the one who picked a fight. When the gargantuan Jedi made his rounds of the salles and found no willing opponent, Ben said nothing. But eventually, Pong saw Ben practicing in the corner and realized that there was one master present whom he _hadn't_ yet asked to a duel.

"You got a pretty little swing there, Master," the Besalisk's bass voice had never seemed quite fit for a Jedi, "you want to try something a little more challenging?" Lower arms akimbo, Master Krell patted either of his saberstaffs at his belt. Ben eyed him.

"That depends, are you prepared to lose?" Oh, he _lived_ for this, fighting with sword and wit at once.

Pong guffawed. "Lose! You don't know who I am, do you, little master?"

"I know exactly who you are." Bully. Traitor. Clone-killer. Darksider. "And rest assured, I've taken down far mightier than you, Pong Krell." No one could ever argue that he was wrong.

"Funny. I don't remember you at all."

"Don't worry. You will."

And suddenly, right there in the corner of the dojo, the besalisk and the comparatively miniscule human began dueling each other. Pong drew his sabers first, or so the onlookers would recount to Vokara Che, but Kenobi rose to match the assualt with relish.

Ben was in his element, dancing under blades and around parries like the old dangerous days. Pong obviously hadn't expected much of a fight, so when Ben refused to be squashed and dashed in and out of the deadly jar'kai torrent like a specialist the besalisk's jowls began to puff in anger. Ben was oblivious. He no longer saw green and blue, but red, in staffs and in double, in the hands of a human, a zabrak, a traitor bound for Umbara. Krell let out a loud _kaia,_ bringing both oversized sabers down in an overhead slash onto Kenobi's defense. Krell always had favored a full-frontal assault. To the last man, or so that horrible report had read. Ben snarled and threw the besalisk off of him with a force-shove. The two circled each other like wild akk dogs, each daring the other to strike.

A considerable crowd had gathered, awed padawans and increasingly worried masters. Someone sent for Master Drallig to intervene when Krell dared his opponent to raise the power setting on his saber and Kenobi agreed.

Krell would never back down. Kenobi couldn't. This was his life's kata: the struggle, the fight, seeing darkness pressing in on all sides, daring his spirit to endure it. It too was a prison, a dark reflection of the Temple's stifling calm, but he understood war better than peace. He hated it, but it had been his companion from youth. It was, in a horrible way, _comforting_.

Pong spun, emerald staff bearing down with a static energy no Jedi alive had ever had to face in earnest – none but Ben. As the saber passed him by, Ben stuck the staff in two, and the sound plucked a violent chord in his memory. The blades extinguished, leaving the match doused in sapphire light. Pong yelled in outrage and rebounded, but his two left arms were unprotected, and his opponent was a trapped Clone War General stuck between the present and the once-was.

Ben forgot himself. He struck to hit and did not miss.

Pong Krell roared in pain, lower right arm grabbing at his bicep in agony. A single green blade appeared between the duelists. With a flick of his wrist and a none-too-gentle Force shove, Cin Drallig pinned Kenobi against the wall.

"That is _enough!"_ The sabermaster commanded.

Jarred into the present, Ben disengaged his saber and realized with horror that Pong Krell was bleeding profusely.

"Call Master Che," Cin said to the crowd of gawkers, going to assess the damage. Ben glanced at the spectators and was mortified to realize that several of his former pupils – including Garen and Reeft - were among them. He stepped forward to apologize, but Cin fixed him with a disappointed glare.

"You've done quiet enough here, Master Kenobi," He snapped, "leave it alone."

* * *

Unsurprisingly, Vokara Che wanted to talk with him later on in the day. When he arrived, the Halls were quiet. She'd ask to meet him a secluded back room; the very same one in which he'd woken up months prior.

"You asked to see me, Master Che," he said emotionlessly. Vokara stared him down in silence, her lekku twitching subconsciously in agitation. She looked at the timepiece on her wrist, stared at the seconds counting down. Ben wondered why. She waited for the chorno to chime the eighteenth hour.

"I'm off my shift now, so you have no grounds to report this," she said.

"Report what?"

She slapped him hard across the cheek.

Head snapped to the side, Ben resisted the urge to rub at it. He supposed he deserved that. He waited a moment. "How is master Krell?"

"He'll live," Growled Vokara, crossing her arms to keep herself from slapping him again. "And his arm will be fine in a month or so. No thanks to you." Ben had the grace to flinch. "Force, Kenobi, _ninety percent power?_ What were you _thinking?"_

Had he been thinking at all, he wondered? If he had, it certainly hadn't been about Krell. He made no reply.

"This isn't like you, Ben."

Ben looked up at her, resenting her confidence. "With all do respect, Vokara," if they were using first names then, so be it. "You hardly know me."

The healer was unfazed. "I know Obi-Wan Kenobi well enough to know he'd never grow up to be _you_ – not willingly."

It was meant to sting, but somehow it didn't. Ben had to admit that he'd never thought about _how_ he'd grown up, merely that he'd _had_ to grow up, and grow up fast. He frowned at the unfamiliar notion. He'd grown up, alright. But between the sith, the war, _Anakin…_ had Obi-Wan been skewed somewhere along the way?

And here in the past, did it even matter?

"Then you'll be happy to hear that he won't have to," Ben said with clipped politeness. He did not meet her gaze. If he had, he would've seen the deep concern in her eyes.

The silence between them stretched for ages. There was a chasm there, forty-two years of hell turned limbo that neither could see clearly. The Force boiled around Ben in waves of confusion, frustration, sadness. Vokara could see the indigo veins of fear among them.

They'd let this fester for far too long.

"I serve my shift in the mind healing ward tomorrow," Vokara told him. "You are my first appointment. Ninth hour. Don't be late." She uncrossed her arms and left the room. "You can let yourself out."

Ben sighed.

* * *

He dutifully arrived at the mind healer's ward the following morning at ninth hour precisely. Vokara greeted him and led him back to one of the interview rooms. "Take a seat, Master Ben. Would you like tea?"

Ben did not take a seat, and he did not even hear the question about tea.

"What are _you_ doing here?"

On the other side of the room, Mace Windu crossed his legs and gestured to a chair. "Take a seat, Kenobi."

Ben turned to the door, but it was shut – more than that, it was _locked._ Through the thin window panel, he could see Vokara making her at the betrayal, he glared at the back of her head. She ignored him.

"Tea?" Mace offered again from behind.

"No, thank you."

"Suit yourself."

Reluctantly, Ben sat. "I was unaware that you were talented in the healing arts, Master Windu," Ben commented dryly, crossing his legs in the way he'd used to in the Council rooms. "Mind or otherwise."

Mace ignored him and took a sip from a tea bowl. "When I suggested to the council that you be put under censure, I was unaware that I would be endangering the wellbeing of others."

"If you're referring to the incident with Master Krell, it was an accident. I _have_ been alive long enough to know the difference between accident and intention."

"Have you?" Mace set down his glass and leaned forward. "Because from where I am standing, you seemed to have balanced your place within this Order on the edge of a knife. Accidents like that happen to padawans, Master Kenobi. In a master, it is recklessness, and recklessness of your caliber is something I have only ever seen in younglings."

"And Qui-Gon," Ben retorted.

"Qui-Gon Jinn understands that his actions have consequences. You do not."

Ben squared his jaw. "I assure you, Master Windu, I know more about _consequences_ than you ever will."

Mace squinted at him, dark eyes cutting and weighing the measure of his words. Ben's mental shields were tight, but he could not quite block out the perception of that unnerving stare. Mace Windu had not been made Master of the Order for nothing. At length, the Master of the Order said: "You're afraid. Of the future, of changing things."

"I'm afraid of _not_ changing things."

"Fear leads to anger-"

"Do not lecture me on the Code. You know nothing of what I fear."

"Then enlighten me."

"I can't."

"So you've told me before – but you have yet to explain why. My patience is wearing very thin."

"In matters of galactic security, confidentiality is the first defense against disaster."

It was a councilor maxim. Mace ticked an eyebrow. "Yes," He said. "Master Yoda said that when he suggested that your mission report be put under clearance level one. I understand how that might have been, in some shrouded way, a merited decision. But what I do not understand is why you refuse to let us _help_ you, Ben. You cannot expect to fight this war on your own."

"Because there is nothing you can do to _help._ Not now." Ben sighed, and shook his head. It felt as though he'd been asked to diffuse a bomb without being able to see the wires properly. "This future that I've lived… It's worse, much worse than whatever you're thinking. But the things I would share with the council…" Ben thought of Qui-Gon standing in front of the Council, insisting that Anakin was the Chosen One. He thought of the day when they had formally declared war. He thought of the session where they'd assigned him to execute Grievous, a unanimous decision made on top of years of laminated fear. Ben passed a hand over his yes, and when he looked up Mace was watching him. "At this point in history, it will only make things worse. For the Council, the Order, everyone. You must understand, Master Windu, I do want your help. But right now, I fear it will do more harm than good. Once I involve the Council, there would be no going back."

Mace did not look entirely convinced. "Once you get yourself expelled from the Order, there will be no going back,"

Ben's eyes went to his lap. _Touché._ After an unproductive silence, Mace heaved a sigh. "Do you really trust me so little, Kenobi?"

"That's not it," Ben scoffed. He looked back up, sadness and nostalgia in his eyes. "I trust you immensely. Believe it or not, Mace, in another life you and I were very close friends. I was a master, then. A leading member of the Council. You were like a father figure to me, especially after Qui-Gon…" He stopped suddenly and shook his head. Mace hid his surprise. "I don't want to have to hide from you – from anyone. But right now… I feel as though there is no other way."

"The Force always provides a way, does it not?"

"Yes, it does. But not right now. Right now is not about that, it's about…" He cast about for a thought, a direction. He was missing something, he knew. Some clue, some hidden route that would show him his next steps. "It's about my mission. The Council will come later. But right now, the Force has led me here to… to…" Ben fumbled, trying to focus on the indistinct notion in the Force. He scrambled to match it against the stratagems he had in mind, but it dissolved like smoke. Mace watched the turmoil play across his face and interrupted:

"Kenobi, when was the last time you rested?"

Ben frowned at him. What kind of question was that? "I slept last night."

"I didn't ask when you last slept, I asked when was the last time you _rested_?"

Ben considered the question. It was a difficult one. "Um," He floundered, put on the spot. He frowned deeply, finding cobwebs on his thoughts. "Perhaps…" When? Before Luke's last birthday? Before his _first_ birthday? Before Anakin? Palpatine? The War? What had _rest_ even meant, all those years ago? "Maybe… twenty two years," He said eventually. "I suppose it's been about twenty two years."

Mace let Ben mull on his thoughts for a while before taking a deep breath and saying, "I do not believe the Force has made a mistake in sending you here. I do not even think that it was a mistake to send you to Herdessa, Force help me. But by the same token, it was not a mistake that you were put under censure, Kenobi. You are reckless and obstinate and it is a rebuke – but it may also be the Force's way of telling you to _rest_."

"But…" the idea was so hard to make comfortable in his head. "I can't _change_ anything from in here. This… this time, I'm here for a reason. I need to… to be out _there._ Every second of every day, it's coming closer, I need to do something to stop it."

"Then do," Mace goaded. "Mount your defense. Rest is not the same as idleness. You are not trapped here."

"Aren't I?" Ben snapped, fists clenching neurotically. The salt in his voice surprised them both. Mace studied him for an intense moment. He looked sad when he guessed,

"You haven't been at the Temple in a long time, have you? Before this all happened."

It'd taken him as long to remember what 'rest' was. "…No."

Mace nodded. He wished Ben would share more, but the more hints he got, the more snippets he gleaned from Ben's slips of tongue, the more he realized that deep down, he feared learning the truth. And if Ben could unlock such fear in the entire council… perhaps it really _was_ better to keep the information under quarantine.

But that still left Ben. "You wish to change history," Mace began in a new tone, changing the topic. "I believe there is a saying, 'those who do not study history are doomed to repeat it.'. The Temple does have the largest archives this side of the Outer Rim, you know."

Ben looked unimpressed. "You think I don't remembered how it all happened?" He asked, insulted. Mace shrugged.

"I think you could use a reminder, in any case. Read. Prepare. _Rest._ Above all, you need to trust the Force – to _let_ yourself trust the Force." Mace stood, and Ben followed suit. "Your actions are important here, Master Kenobi. But so is your peace of mind. Find your center before you misstep again."

Ben took a deep breath as if to speak, but in the end he only breathed it out again, exhausted. "I will meditate on it. Thank you, Master Windu."

Mace said nothing for a moment. "Next time you decide to fight someone, Kenobi," he said, waving the door open, "remember to use low power, for Force's sake."

* * *

Meditation was hard.

"But I _have_ been resting, haven't I? Or haven't I?" Ben's voice was the only thing to be heard in the arboretum, aside from the burbling fountains and the occasional snapping of reeksa stalks. The speaker sighed. "I have been meditating, after all. Trying to. Doesn't that count as rest? Surely it should. And I sleep well enough. I understand what Mace meant, but he's always been a bit too intense about these things. I'm _fine._ " He paused and stretched his booted feet out in front of him. "At least… I think I am." He was unused to this confusion. "Force, I'm tired," he complained.

As it had for the past hour, the Woosha plant swayed in the air currents without opinion. Ben sighed at it.

"Hmm," a familiar croak appeared over his shoulder. "Thought find you _lazing_ again I would. But composed you are," the ancient Jedi used his cane to poke at Ben's donned boots and obi with distaste. "A sign of _brooding_ it is."

"I am attempting to rest," Ben said resentfully, smoothing out his robes.

"Resting you are not. Talking to _plants_ you are." Yoda chuckled at this as if it were the funniest thing he'd heard all day. He shook his head and waddled past Ben to consider the indifferent leafy counselor. "A new addition, this must be. Seen it before I have not." He stroked the thick blue-green leaves respectfully.

"A woosha plant. Native to Naboo. I've been growing a smaller one in my quarters."

"Hmm," Yoda nodded, smiling at the foliage. Eventually he dropped the leaves and turned back to Ben, cane perched at an intelligent angle. "Hold it captive, you do. Why not plant it here, where it belongs?"

Ben shook his head, frowning. "It's not nearly big enough – it'd shrivel up as soon as it tried to set roots."

"Mmm. Keep it inside, then. For now. When right the time is, where it wants to go you must plant it. Flourish then it will." His eyes sparkled with a sage old light as he hobbled back past Ben, whose tabard tails he trod mud on. "But let it outside before it is strong, you must not."

Yoda hopped up onto a large cap of fungi, and then up further into a low-standing tree. He found a comfortable crook in its branches and lay there, balancing his gimmer stick nearby. He closed his eyes and hummed contentedly, wriggling more firmly into his spot. He did not move.

"Master Yoda?" Ben began to ask, baffled by his behavior.

" _Lazing_ I am," the small one replied before the question could finish forming. "Exhausting your brooding is. Bother me with it no more."

Ben frowned at the dozing grandmaster for a several seconds. Eventually, he sighed and leaned forward to pull of his boots and unbuckle his belt. When he leaned back against the grass and let out a long breath, Master Yoda - eyes still closed – smiled at the sound.

* * *

Several days later, in a more agreeable state of mind, Ben found his way to the Jedi archives. He'd been borrowing holobooks and news reports on a semi-regular basis since he'd arrived in the past, but he'd mostly aimed to refresh his memory on current events. He hadn't stepped in here with any intension of dredging up old demons – let alone researching new ones.

But he needed rest. Rest and strength. There was no ignorance, there was knowledge, and through knowledge he would know the Force, and the Force was a powerful ally indeed. He needed allies about now.

He was not entirely sure where he'd ought to start, so he put in a basic search with the name "Palpatine" and downloaded as many of the relevant files as he dared. He put in a request to view of the minutes of a meeting between Chancellor Valorum and the Neimoidian ambassador, but was denied access. He keyed in his access code, but was stonewalled by the same notification. He sighed. "Blasted machine." The codes were good; but technology was, as ever Obi-Wan's philosophy had proven, a fickle friend indeed.

He approached the front desk expecting to find Jocasta Nu, the Temple archivist. Instead, he found a small twi'lek curled up in Jocasta's seat, feet swinging, nose buried in a holo picture book.

"Hello there, little one," He said. The girl jumped in surprise, sitting up straight and blushing indigo behind a facefull of blue freckles. Embarrassed, she pulled up a sagging tabard, which looked as though it'd been fitted for her to grow into. Ben smiled at her, and she blushed harder. Looking uncertain, she brushed her still-playing holobook to the side as if to make it disappear. Projected above the pages, a rancor bit into a holographic gundark with gusto. "Is there something I can help you with, master?" Asked the youngling.

"Yes, I'm attempting to access a file, but I'm afraid I've run into technical trouble."

"Do you have the record number, master?"

"Yes, it's one eight one nine aught nine six two two," He recited. She tapped in the numbers with careful deliberation and waited. A notification sounded from the console, and she looked at it uncertainly, hands drawn to her chest. "Uhhh," she cast a lost look over her shoulder. "Master?"

With her head turned away, Ben was surprised to see a silka bead braid dangling from the base of her right lekku.

"Yes, padawan?" A tall man carrying a stack of holobooks came out from behind a shelf of unsorted records.

"It says I need a passcode."

The master looked up from his work. "Oh, yes," he set the holobooks aside and keyed in a code. While waiting for it to register, he frowned at the glowing holopictures at his padawan's station. He scoffed. "Aola, what is this?"

Aola stiffened guiltily. Innocent blue eyes swiveled in their sockets to look at the book out of the corner of her eye. Ben resisted the urge to smile. "Ummm…"

Her master sighed and flipped the book shut. "Go put it back where you found it," He ordered. She dutifully took the volume and slid off of her chair. Without the tall stool, the crown of her growing lekku only reached to her master's waist. She shuffled away to a distant shelf, leaving her master chuckling and shaking his head. "I apologize," the master said, sitting down in the chair and pausing to readjust it so his knees would fit beneath the desk. "My apprentice has… alarming tastes in literature."

Ben laughed. "Oh, I remember being her age. It comes with the territory. I'm sure as an archivist's apprentice she has more than enough to study."

"Oh, I'm no archivist," the man at the desk laughed. "Aola is just very… exuberant, you see," He raised his eyebrows meaningfully. "We volunteer for Master Nu's service as an exercise in silence."

Ben's face dimpled and he nodded with experiential understanding. "I see. The master knows best."

"Mm. It's been quite nice for me." _Scroll, scroll, scroll_. "Now, you wanted the… Minutes on the meeting between Chancellor Valorum and… the Neimoidian consulate?"

"Yes, that's it."

He typed in a quick code. "Very well. It should be available on your 'pad now, Master, eh…" He glanced at the screen, "Kenobi." He frowned suddenly, head tilting to one side. "Why do I know that name?"

"You might be thinking of my nephew, Obi-Wan Kenobi."

"Oh," The man's eyebrows rose. " _Obi-Wan_ Kenobi…" He looked at Ben keenly. "He's apprenticed to Qui-Gon Jinn, is he not?"

"Yes," Ben replied, surprised at the recognition. "You know them?"

"Well," the man waved a dismissive hand. "The master. Qui-Gon and I used to… well, we used to know each other, back in the day." He smiled up at Ben.

"Master?" Aola called in a nervous tone from some ways away. A small crash followed. The stand-in archivist merely sighed.

"Well, it was nice to meet you, Master Kenobi, if you'll excuse me…"

"Of course," Ben took his datapad and bowed. "I didn't catch your name, Master-?"

"Gard," The man offered with a small bow of parting.

"Gard," Ben finished with a smile. "Well then, Master Gard, best of luck, and may the Force be with you."

He laughed. "Thank you."

Ben went back to his rooms, watered his plants, and read until dark, unaware that the records were the discovery of lesser import that day.


	16. Remedial

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Befitting of the chapter title, the last installment of this story garnered quite a few comments along the lines of: "omg Ben is acting so out of character wow isn't this a bit much?"
> 
> My response: Yes he is, and yes it is. I don't really know how else to say it. I hate that chapter. I really do. If this were not a fanfic and were a draft for an actual story I would scrap it and rewrite it entirely differently. But because I am not one of those dedicated fanfic authors who writes the entire story before posting it, the mistake has been made and the damage has been done.
> 
> That being said, I'm hoping this chapter can, at least in some ways, explain a little bit of that OOC-ness.

"Oh. Hello."

Ben looked up to see himself, or rather, a much younger version of himself, standing in the dimly lit doorway, a bunched up meditation pillow under his arm.

"Hello there," Ben said back. Obi-Wan hesitated awkwardly, but eventually stepped into the hall, footfalls echoing softly against the darkened vastness. He glanced at the several spherical lamps hovering around Ben's setup of holobooks and datapads. They appeared to float midair of their own accord, but Obi-Wan knew better. They moved around Ben as he needed the light, answering to movements in the Force. It must take a massive amount of concentration, Obi-Wan thought. He considered asking about it, but then there was a more immediate, obvious query:

"What are you doing here?"

"Reading," Ben said innocently and flicked open a new document.

Obi-Wan didn't know how to respond to his own cheek. He resorted to an expression he knew Qui-Gon favored in these situations (it was odd being on the other side of things) and asked: "What are you reading?"

Ben set aside his work, took a breath, and stretched his arms as he looked over his small library. "Oh, a great many things. Meetings. Senate hearings. All of them equally boring, I'm afraid." He slumped and scratched at his beard. The lamps never wavered in their orbits around him.

Obi-Wan twisted his head to peer at the askew titles. He held his braid away from his face so he could read: "Minutes of the Dorinian Summit, twenty-five double ought eight... who's that?" Obi-Wan asked curiously, indicating a holo image that hovered above the report. It was of a middle aged man, elegantly dressed, presenting a speech to a crowd.

"His name is Sheev Palpatine. He's a senator from Naboo," Ben explained in a painfully plain tone. Obi-Wan nodded uncertainly.

"Oh. Naboo… that's… wait. Don't tell me." He squinted, summoning his remedial astronavigation charts to mind. "That's in the… Chommell sector, isn't it?"

Ben smiled to see the inexperience of his youth. "Very good."

Obi-Wan grinned victoriously back before tilting his head to inspect another title. "…and… a meeting between Chancellor Valorum and the Neimoidian consulate twenty-five ought ten… roll call votes for the Rylothian Refugee Response Committee… Who is that?"

Ben smiled. "That's Bail Prestor Organa, senator to Alderaan."

"Oh," Obi-Wan nodded, more familiarly this time. He'd been to Alderaan before. "He's very young for a senator."

"Yes, he's promising to be quite the upstart."

Obi-Wan continued to peruse Ben's weekend self-inflicted homework. "Roll call vote on the Spice Trade Regulation Act of twenty-five double ought nine… is that that Palpatine fellow again?"

Ben sighed and leaned over to snatch up the volume. "Never you mind."

Obi-Wan shrugged, obviously not really wanting to hear the full story. He'd never been one to suffer senatorial politics willingly. "You weren't kidding when you said it was boring. What on earth are you reading it all for?"

Ben began organizing his stacks of books and notes. "Trying to right old wrongs. Knowledge is power, in this instance."

"Oh." It was clear that Obi-Wan didn't fully understand what he meant, but was not put off by it. "Why do all that _here_?" he gestured to their desolate and dark surroundings.

Ben shrugged. "The Force, it's… _thicker_ down here."

"Yes, I know what you mean."

"It helps me think. Concentrate. Lock out all the… distractions." Ben looked away, mind replaying images from his duel with Pong Krell. He shook himself out of it. "And what of you? Do Qui-Gon's houseplants pose such distraction to meditation?"

"No," Obi-Wan fiddled with his cushion. "I just… like it down here, is all. It's quiet. Peaceful." He looked up at the vaulted ceilings, so much older than either of them could comprehend.

"It is," Ben agreed. "Perhaps the council should lock me down here for safekeeping. Sounds like something Yoda would do." The memory of the grandmaster _lazing_ made Ben chuckle. Obi-Wan did not catch onto the amusement, and became very sullen. He'd heard about the fight with Master Krell. _Everyone_ had heard about the fight with Master Krell. Hell, Garen had _seen_ it. As of yet, however, Obi-Wan had not had chance to talk about it with Ben.

"Did you come down here to stop yourself?" He asked. Ben looked over at him, surprised and confused.

"Stop myself from what?"

"From…" Face to face with the offender, Obi-Wan lost courage. "From whatever happened on your mission. Master Krell, and…" He pinched the edge of his cushion as his bravado retreated. "…and all that." As Ben continued to stare, Obi-Wan backpeddled. "I'm sorry, Master, I didn't mean to insinuate,"

"No no, it's quite alright. And don't call me master, please. I'm you, for Force's sake." He closed his eyes and shook his head. "I _was_ you. I come down here to… get away. It's easier down here, to keep things in perspective." He glanced to his left, where stood the crumbled ground from which he'd first emerged into this reality. "This place is timeless in the Force. It does not care for politics, or fear, or age, or death." He closed his eyes. "It's dark in here, I know it is. But it's so bright. Can you feel it?"

Obi-Wan could, but not, he suspected, as strongly as Ben could. "Yes."

Ben opened his eyes at length. "But up _there…_ Up there, it's… well," He huffed, "it's impossible to keep my head on straight. I should know better, but in the moment… it's as if I never learned anything at all."

Obi-Wan wasn't entirely sure what to make of that. "Know better than what happened on your mission, or about Master Krell?"

Ben shrugged. "Both."

The word reflected a deep sense of remorse, but knowing this did nothing to scratch the itch of curiosity nagging the back of Obi-Wan's brain. "Why did you do it, then? Fight Master Krell? …do whatever it is that you did on your mission?"

Ben took a deep breath and turned to look at his counterpart. So young, so innocent, so hopeful. But there were the seeds of wisdom there. As young as he was, Obi-Wan was not completely naive. He was not untouched by the worries of the world, as Ben had already witnessed firsthand during his time here. Still, it took several long moments for Ben to decide how to explain the deep fear of reprisal that had compelled him to abandon years of training.

"Obi-Wan," he said, thinking absently how the name sounded less odd on his tongue now that it no longer belonged to him, "do you remember Melida/Daan?"

The padawan's reaction was visible physically and in the Force. Eyes widened first in surprise before shrinking back in guarded memory. Mouth thin, he replied, "Yes."

"You remember how you almost left the Order, how caught up you became in the war effort, the plight of the Young. You remember Cerasi?"

Obi-Wan looked down at his hands. "Yes," he replied just as tightly. Ben watched him in complete sympathy.

"You've grown since then. You've learned better. You know where you were mistaken on Melida/Daan, where you misplaced your passions. You've spoken about it at length with Qui-Gon, I know you have."

Obi-Wan sighed, remembering the much fresher versions of those memories and the long meditations it'd taken to comprehend what his older self now recited with such ease. "Yes."

"You know, in your head and your heart, how things could have gone for the better- what you could've done to change them for the better."

Obi-Wan frowned slightly, now seeing the line of Ben's thoughts. "Yes, I suppose."

"But if you were plunged back into Melida/Daan, do you think you would remember? I don't mean the planet as it is now. I mean if you were _there_ again, in the war, in the midst of the same plight at the same time, with the Young, with _Cerasi,"_ He let that sink in. "Is there a chance in the nine hells that you'd remember all the lessons you learned?"

Obi-Wan's face was a theater of emotion and puzzlement. "No," He decided. Ben nodded in silence, his point made.

"I have not made the same mistakes I would've made in the past. I've made different ones, some worse than before. Ones borne out of fear of what was, what I don't want to happen. I didn't realize how afraid I was until I lashed out on the unsuspecting universe." He scoffed and rubbed his face in shame. "I'm afraid Master Yoda made a terrible mistake by sending me out for active duty."

Obi-Wan frowned at the idea, tilting his head in thought. At length, he said, "Maybe not. Whether he meant it or not, by sending you out on the field, Master Yoda ensured that you would realize your fear, so now you can seek to overcome it. Better that than leaving it to fester until later, when it might be more harmful. It's like a... an exam. Even though you failed, now you know which parts you need to study again to get it right." Astronavigationcame to -Wan nodded at Ben's stack of holobooks. _"_ As you've said, knowledge is power."

Ben stared at him in genuine surprise. He could not remember having been so wise in his adolescence. The naivety had worn off so quickly after Qui-Gon… but when bathed in light, naivety was a prism for insight. _Truly wonderful the mind of a child is._ It really was.

"I doubt Master Yoda intended it that way," Ben said, a small smile beneath his mustache.

"But Obi-Wan, _The Force works in mysterious ways_ ," Obi-Wan reminded in his best Qui-Gon impersonation. Ben let out a laugh before he could think about stopping it.

"That's actually very good," he admitted.

Obi-Wan beamed. " _Don't_ tell him I did that."

"Of course not."

Smile lingering, Ben regarded his stacks of records. He hadn't gathered them out of fear. He'd gathered them in calculated communion with the Force, a care taken in light of alarming events only days past. Events that would never have come to pass if he hadn't _royally_ kriffed up everything right out of the gate. Events that, even despite his own obdurate trauma, could still change things for the better.

"Qui-Gon has a point, of course," the master said eventually. "He makes an annoying habit of that."

Obi-Wan snorted, still smiling, and let Ben return to his studies. They sat in companionable silence for a while with Ben reading and Obi-Wan quietly clearing his mind, preparing to meditate. As he swept the cobwebs from his mental storerooms, Obi-Wan came across a pest of a thought that he hadn't noticed biting at him until now.

"Ben?" He asked, turning to face the older man.

"Hmm?" Ben replied, scrolling idly through a bill.

"What you said… about Melida/Daan," the name was a harbinger of memory for both of them. Ben looked up, full attention on the apprentice. "About you being here being like me going back there…" Obi-Wan frowned, something in his gut aching with insult and dread. "Surely it's not… it's not _that_ bad, is it?"

Ben stared back at the young face with a lost expression. There was no truthful answer he could give in sound conscience. It would not be right to explain war and genocide to its chief victim. Not now. Not with the world in flux. It would claim something far too precious on a conjecture of fear. "Oh, I don't know," Ben shrugged, heart weighing like a black hole through the lie. "Never you mind, young one."

Obi-Wan, irritated at the 'young one' comment but smart enough to sense a dismissal, shrugged and released his residual curiosity into the Force.

Ben took a deep breath and let himself feel the pulsing, tidal waves of the Force even as it pooled around Obi-Wan by his side. _Emotion, yet peace. Emotion, yet peace._ His fear ebbed away, bleeding in a flood but sanitized as if in bacta. "Study," he told himself quietly, minding Obi-Wan's quiet retreat from the world, "arm yourself carefully, General Kenobi. This is not the same war – and it's not just yours, anymore."

* * *

"You'd think I was fighting a war," Master Gard confided in his newfound friend when Ben came to return his archive books. Ben fought a smile as he cast a look at Aola, who was sitting atop a nearby stool - presumably from which she was meant to be re-shelving holovolumes – swinging her legs, nose buried in a book about as big as she was.

"She _is_ being silent," Ben noted. Gard gave him a withering look. "Finding the bright spot in a storm is often the only way with these things. She'll grow out of the energy eventually. They all do."

"Hmm," grumbled Gard, keying in the commands to process Ben's returned materials. "You speak from experience, then?"

Ben hesitated just long enough to remember his cover story. "None of my own," It was annoying to have to lie, because oh, the stories he could tell this man. "Though I've been known to teach them en masse. Youth can be challenging. But…" he glanced at Aola, who was smiling a gap-toothed grin at something she read. Ben's heart warmed. "I find that they are also very rewarding."

"I hope so," Gard said, genuine worry in his voice. After a brief pause, he confessed, "She chose me, you know. Said she saw it in a dream."

"Really?" Ben's eyebrows rose. "Foresight in one so young is rare."

"Yes, she is quite powerful in her own way. Which is what unnerves me – I know nothing of visions and foreknowledge. I'm not sure I'll be able to really help her in that area… and she needs it." Master Gard's forehead wrinkled in worry. Ben estimated that Gard was just brushing the cusp of middle age, not all that much older than Ben. At that moment, however, he looked decades older. Ben weighed his words carefully.

"Speaking as someone born with similar powers, Master Gard, and as someone who was successfully raised by a master inexperienced in such things," _please don't ask who,_ "you are likely _exactly_ what she needs. Visions can consume a person if indulged too much. An anchor outside of precognition will do her good. Believe me."

Gard looked genuinely touched by the encouragement, and smiled at Ben. Without further comment, he processed Ben's new haul of holobooks and 'pads. "Quite a bit of research you're doing here."

"I can be a bit of an academic in my downtime."

Gard smiled and nodded, ignorant of the fact that he was serving a master under severe censure. He glanced at the titles as he stacked them on the desk. "Oh, Naboo! That world is gorgeous. You ever been?"

"Once or twice. I take it you have, as well?"

"Yes, only once." Gard laughed. "It was… quite the mission. We got stuck there for an extra week and nearly missed our flight home. Though I admit, I would've been happy to stay."

"We?" Ben asked, curiously.

"Oh, yes, uh…" Gard faltered, and handed the book to Ben. "Yes, it was a joint mission between I and another - Master Jinn, I believe I've mentioned him before."

"Ah yes, I'd forgotten you know him. As it happens, I'm going to have tea with him later today," Ben said in an inviting tone. Gard's back stiffened despite his smile.

"Really? Yes, I suppose he always enjoy his tea…" He shrugged in something Ben read as a nervous manner. "Truth be told, Master Kenobi, He probably doesn't remember me. It was a long time ago."

Perhaps to his shame, Ben was desperate enough for friendly company that he was willing to press further: "I'm sure if he saw you it'd jog his memory. You should accompany me, I'm sure he wouldn't mind."

"Perhaps, but I'm afraid I must decline. I've promised Aola a good spar tonight. She gets a bit jittery cooped up in here, it's best to let her wear herself out so she can get good sleep."

"I see," Ben said. He didn't. Sparring in the evening shouldn't preclude afternoon tea. Still, it was the man's own decision. "Well then," He took up his stack of books and gave the interim archivist a smile. "May the Force be with you, Master Gard."

"You as well, Master Kenobi."

* * *

At tea, he and Qui-Gon spent some time discussing the progress of Ben's houseplants, with Qui-Gon giving gems of horticultural advice here and there. They spoke of the council next, and of Ben's censure. Ben briefly reflected on his fear of the future, which Qui-Gon did not press him on – both because he knew it would do no good, and because he himself was, admittedly, nervous to hear what Ben feared so much.

Ben complained that Vokara Che had, in fact, scheduled him for ongoing sessions with _actual_ mind healers (not Mace Windu) and that he would have to endure their probing questions every two weeks for an unspecified tenure. Qui-Gon consoled him as he could, using masterly tones and words that Ben reacted to as a matter of course; he didn't even realize he had calmed down considerably until they were able to turn to lighter topics with his brow unfurrowed.

They spoke of Obi-Wan and his progress in astronavigation – happily, the apprentice was gone for classes and unable to eavesdrop – and then argued for some time over the actual merits of memorizing astronavigation charts when all standard ships came equipped with nav computers. Ben, predictably, sided with Obi-Wan and argued that it was ludicrous; Qui-Gon insisted that it was good preparedness for disaster.

Eventually, the conversation exhausted both of their mental checklists of information until only Ben had anything left to say.

"Oh yes," He remembered, putting down his bowl, "I'd nearly forgotten – I've met an old friend of yours, I think. In the archives."

Qui-Gon's brows raised above his tea. "The archives? Strange. Last I checked, they all hated me," he said in a tone of ambiguous sincerity. Ben smirked.

"Well, this one's not actually _from_ the archives, only working there temporarily. He claims that the two of you used to be mission partners."

"Does this temporary archivist have a name?"

"Yes, he's called Master Gard."

Ben had been prepared to elaborate to jog Qui-Gon's memory, but he needn't have bothered. Qui-Gon's reaction was instantaneous and drastic. Shock resonated through the Force and the master faltered with his tea bowl, sitting up straight and setting his drink on the table with an impolite _clink_. Ben stilled his movements and regarded his master with considerable surprise.

"Oh," Qui-Gon said, recovering from the uncharacteristic blunder and affecting neutrality. "Yes. Master Gard." The way he enunciated the syllables together made Ben think that it wasn't an entirely familiar moniker.

Ben remained frozen, watching the other's movements carefully. "You know him?" he asked mildly.

"Hmm?" It was as if Qui-Gon had been lost in some other realm of thought. "Yes. Yes, we, uh… we did go on missions together, now and again. A long time ago."

"I see." Long lost mission partners, now unfamiliar and both stiff-backed at the mention of each other. Ben did not know what to make of it. He took a tactful sip from his tea, not wanting to press too hard against what must've been a massive bluff. "I take it you haven't seen him in a while."

"No, no I haven't." Another lengthy pause. "What on earth is he doing in the archives?"

Ben smiled. "He's not there for his own benefit. He has a very excitable padawan, you see,"

"Padawan?" Qui-Gon interrupted, surprised. "He has a padawan, now?"

Ben hesitated again, completely unused to the surprise and… _sentiment_ running through Qui-Gon's tone. He did his best to not reflect it when he said, "Yes. A very young twi'lek girl – I understand their pairing is a recent one."

"Oh," said Qui-Gon after a while. "I was… unaware of it," and he actually looked _hurt_ by that, though the source of it lie beyond Ben's comprehension.

"As I was saying," the younger man continued, internally uncertain but outwardly as composed as ever, "she's quite excitable. Master Gard has volunteered their service at the archives as an exercise in silence."

The humor of it was lost on the elder man. "I see," Qui-Gon said, staring blindly into his tea. Ben waited for him to say more, but ended up waiting for a long time.

"Is something wrong, Qui-Gon?"

"Of course not," the elder smiled that veneer grin that Obi-Wan had always seen straight through. "I just haven't seen or heard from… from Master Gard in many years. I am surprised, is all."

"I see," the younger man said, finishing off his sapir without really tasting it. "As am I. He seemed to think that you wouldn't remember him at all."

And there was that hurt again, deeper than before. Though Qui-Gon's face betrayed no emotion, his eyes said everything. The alarm ebbed into a mournful hue, and he nodded. "I can't fault him for the assessment."

Ben had no way to decipher that. Now at an impasse, he leaned forward to pour more tea. In a brighter tone, he said, "Well, he seems like a nice enough man. His padawan is a blessed soul."

"Yes," Qui-Gon agreed quietly, not noticing his fresh tea or the watchful eye of his not-quite apprentice. "Yes, I daresay she must be."

* * *

A few days later, Ben found himself back in the archives. He didn't really need to be there; he'd read less than half of what he'd brought back from his last visit. But the mystery of Qui-Gon's relationship with Master Gard made Ben gravitate back to the archives like a moth to flame.

Obi-Wan Kenobi had never been one to reach for victory by a full frontal assault, and Ben Kenobi was no different. He'd long found that a kind smile and a listening ear could win more battles than a brash attitude ever had. And so, thus armed from dimple to dimple, he entered the fray ghostly blue lexicons–

– and immediately encountered the wrong opponent.

"Well hello there, Padawan Aola," Ben said, peering down at the tiny ankle he'd almost tripped on. Embarrassed, Aoa dropped her book and grabbed at her left lekku as if it would protect her. Ben's smile grew wider.

"Hello M-" she realized she was talking too loudly and hunched, now holding her lekku in front her mouth. In a harsh whisper, she corrected, "Hello, Master Kenobi."

"I see you're adapting well, little one," Ben replied in kind, bending at the waist to whisper. "Do you like it here in the archives?"

Aola nodded. "Very much," She assured him. "Don't tell master. He thinks I hate it here."

"A Jedi does not hate, little one."

"No, Master. We learn to whisper instead."

Ben chuckled. "Indeed we do, wise one." He patted her head. "Now, where might I find your master?"

"At the back desk." When Ben nodded and began to leave, she caught the edge of his cloak. "He doesn't know I'm over here. I'm meant to be at the front desk."

Ben looked down at her with an old man's eyes; equal parts playful and reprimanding. "Well then, you'd best get over there, hadn't you, young whisperer?"

Aola ducked in admonishment but smiled as she passed by Ben. The elder shook his head and pressed on into the darkened archive halls.

"Back so soon?" Master Gard greeted. "Here I was thinking you'd be set for a month or two."

"I'm a fast reader, though not quite _that_ fast," Ben pulled a holobook from an inner cloak pocket. "This volume's not quite what I expected it. I think I need the next year of the same date."

"I see," Gard took the book, read the label, and pulled up the terminal browser to find the replacement. Ben caught him eyeing the distant front desk.

"She's getting quite good at silence," he complimented. Gard smiled, but ticked an eyebrow.

"Aye. Silence-ish, at least. Now, if I can get her to _focus_ as well…"

"One miracle at a time, Master Gard," Ben chuckled. The archivist joined in.

While they waited for the computer to finish its work, Ben tossed out the probe he'd been waiting to launch since his arrival:

"Master Jinn sends his regards, by the way."

Gard's eyes shot up. After a moment of shock, he recovered and said in an incredulous tone, "did he now?" He paused to scoff and shuffle some holographic files around in the computer. "Tell you all about me, did he?"

Ben had not expected such a parry, and could not give a suitable riposte. "No, actually. He didn't say much – but he _did_ remember you."

"And said nothing of it?" Gard didn't seem altogether surprised.

"Not as such."

"Hmm," Gard smiled thinly, fakely. "Aye, that sounds like him. Stubborn old Jinn." There was some sadness in his tone, resolute though it was. "I can't say I'm surprised. As I told you, it was a very long time ago. Now. This volume you want is new enough that you should be able to download it on your 'pad whenever you like. I've given you permissions for it."

"Thank you, Master Gard. I apologize for bringing up unpleasant memories."

"It's not…" Gard shook his head, and then sighed heavily. Changing subjects, he smiled softly and said, "you know, Master Kenobi, Gard is just my surname."

Effectively disarmed, Ben's eyebrows came down in befuddlement. "Is it? Oh. I'm terribly sorry, I assumed… do you prefer to be called by your first name?"

"Among friends, yes," Gard smiled, well-worn laughter lines emerging to frame his features. He reached across the desk to shake Ben's hand as if meeting for the first time. "Please, call me Feemor."

Ben shook the hand and smiled back. "And I'm Ben."

It was not the victory he'd wanted, but a friend gained was a victory of a rare sort. And this friend, though Ben did not yet know it, was of a rarity he'd never known.


	17. Sharing is Caring

"Ah, Master Ben, there you are."

Ben strode into the arena armed with his wits and a razor-sharp glare. "Vokara," He deadpanned. The Master Healer perched her hands on her notepad as he door slid shut behind him. Taking his time, Ben sat and crossed one leg over the other.

"I was unaware we were on first name terms," the healer smiled.

"It seemed a logical next step in our increasingly close relationship, what with you calling me here so that you may rifle through my innermost privacies; a marauding excisor of your horrid calling." Consciously or unconsciously, Ben was channeling his inner councilor – elbows splayed authoritatively on the armrests, boots and eyebrows angled just so in authority, all in all cutting a figure most Jedi had known to fear and respect.

Fortunately or unfortunately, Vokara Che had never known Ben as a councilor. She ticked an eyebrow and spun her stylus in an aggravated staccato. "I seem to recall you _thanking_ me for my services not all that long ago."

"I didn't know you then."

"You recognized me while hardly lucid," she countered.

Ben pursed his lips. "I didn't know you _well_ then."

"There will be no rifling,Master Kenobi. Your fears are unfounded."

"I'm not afraid, I'm annoyed."

"You're acting like a child."

"Some might say that I am still a child - from a certain point of view."

"A very particular point of view, one which I will not indulge. Now." She fixed him with a stern look that was, despite the parent-less childhoods of both present parties, unmistakably maternal. "I've reserved this room for a full hour and you will not be leaving until that hour is up. You can continue this puerile rant, or you can share in civil conversation. Either way you will be here until fourteenth hour and you will return to this very spot for another hour in two weeks time. Be stubborn and I can make it one week." She let him absorb that and relished the miniscule flinch he gave at the end. She smiled. "Would you like tea?

He took tea only because he did not have to speak while drinking. When he did stop drinking, he decided it was in his best interests to take the lead. "If there is to be no rifling, what do you intend to do with me?"

"I intend to talk with you."

"About what?"

"About _you_. About what makes you you. About what on earth happened to turn the smiling, rule-touting Obi-Wan Kenobi that I know into Ben, who scares my apprentices and assaults his fellow knights in the dojo."

Ben slouched. He was so weary of this perennial fight. "Vokara, I cannot, I _will_ not speak to you about the future."

"The past, then."

"Not the one that I know, the one that could be the future."

"Force's sake, Ben, I'm not asking for the horoscope of the galaxy," Vokara burst. "I'm asking about _you._ It's not my job to worry about the galaxy. It never has been. Hell if I know anything about it. I'm not a politician, I'm not a warrior. I'm a healer. My job – my _only_ job is to make sure that my patients are whole and healthy, ready to do _their_ jobs. And the council has told me in no uncertain terms that you are neither whole nor healthy. So spare me the lecture. Leave out whatever you like and forget the details of a future, which I can only assume was horrible, seeing as you're here at all. Tell me about _you."_

Ben looked away and crossed his arms. Vokara continued to stare him down. At length, he said, "the trouble with that, of course, is that the future of the galaxy and my own past are virtually one and the same."

"Some would call that conceit of the first degree, Master Kenobi."

Ben scoffed. "I would call it damn rotten luck."

Vokara leaned back, balancing her notepad carefully on her knee, as precarious as the status quo in this conversation. Ben glanced at the flimsi sheets, trying to spy her notes. They were unintelligible. He squinted at her.

"You're going to write down what I say?"

"Some of it, yes. In my own personal shorthand, which is as good as gibberish to anyone but myself. I usually transcribe these notes, but given the confidential nature of… well, of anything you have to say, I'll leave these _au naturale._ On flimsi, out of the official records."She watched his expression. "Feel better?"

"Not particularly."

"Very well," She said, and wrote something down. He craned his neck to see.

"Now now," she hid her notes for show, but her code wasn't even in aurebesh. "Behave. Honestly, I thought Qui-Gon would've taught you better manners – wait a moment," She caught herself. "He's Qui-Gon. Nevermind." She shook her head and ignored Ben's affronted look. "Rest assured my notes are nothing incriminating. They merely remind me of our conversation and my observations.

"And what might those be?"

"That you dislike thinking about your past, but it is likely all that you can think about." His wince told her that she'd hit the mark. "That you are nervous about revealing anything about the future to anyone, that you are wary of just about everything not under your control, and that you have a sharp silver tongue that you're used to getting you out of tight spots."

Ben had the presence of mind to blush and look away. He was not happy to admit: "Full marks, Master Che."

Vokara made a note and watched him silently for several moments, wondering what trials had forged the wrinkles in his brow. At length, she decided: "Tell you what, Ben. I'll make a deal with you." His eyes shot up in suspicion. "Tell me one thing – just one thing that I don't know about you or who you were, and I'll let you go early."

Ben's face was unreadable. "What kind of thing?"

"Anything. No matter how trivial or small. Just one thing that is true about the Obi-Wan Kenobi of yesteryear."

Ben sighed and fiddled with his fingers. It was a trap. He knew it was a trap. He'd never trusted healers, but mind healers were a class all their own. They were the _real_ masters in the horrible Order of the Halls. They didn't bother with gross matter and bodies; they got into the head and circumvented the wiles that other people usually found so compelling. It was downright insulting.

It was a _trap_.

But maybe, said a far too sensible old desert hermit from the back of his thick skull, it was about time he was caught. He drew a massive breath and sighed it back out.

"Fine."

Face not betraying the considerable sense of satisfaction that she felt, Vokara sat back and waited for his confession.

"I'm not thirty-five. I may look like it, but I've been alive a lot longer than that."

"When we met, you said that you were an old man," She nodded.

"I am," Ben told her. "Older than Qui-Gon, actually – which I might add is a thoroughly odd sensation."

Vokara let herself chuckle at the idea. It helped to hide her surprise – this meant that Ben was several years older than her, as well. "Really? How old were you when you…"

"When I died?"

"Yes."

"Fifty-seven, I believe," he scratched at his beard. "Or fifty-eight. I lost track a bit near the end."

"I see," Vokara jotted down a few notes. "Must've been quite the shock to wake up a young man again."

"It was," Ben found himself laughing despite himself. "Good joints, hair and all. Do you know, I hadn't realized how bad my vision had become before this all happened. I'm afraid I'm doomed to be terribly nearsighted one day."

"Oh dear," she laughed with him. "We'll be sure to take care of that when the time comes. Does Master Jinn know he ought to be deferring respect to you?" She grinned.

"Oh, no," Ben laughed at the thought, "Dear Force, no. Age or no, he's… he's… I only ever knew him as my master, he'll stay that way." Ben spoke only fondly, but something in his words made Vokara wonder. "At any rate, I'm sure it would only confuse poor Obi-Wan to wits end."

"A fair point," Said the healer. "I suppose you must have garnered enough respect though, from others."

Ben opened his mouth, but stopped. After a brief pause, he said, "I have told you my piece for the day, Vokara. I believe we had an arrangement."

The healer shrugged. "It was worth a try. Thank you for indulging my curiosity, Master Kenobi. I'll uphold my end of the bargain." She stood and went to the door. "That wasn't so bad, was it?"

They always said that for these kinds of things, Ben thought. Pulling teeth, pricking needles, traumatic surgery. "I suppose not," He said, wondering if he'd regret it later.

"I'll send for you again in two weeks. Same time, same room."

"And what will we do then?" Ben asked, meandering toward the door.

"The same as we've just done. I will make us tea, we will talk, I will take notes, and you will tell me one thing about yourself that I do not already know."

"Until you get what you want?"

"Until you get what you need, Ben." She told him softly. "You do know that I have only your best interests at heart."

He did. That was the problem. "This is going to hurt eventually, isn't it?"

Vokara could not tell him one way or another. "If the Force wills it. If it does, it will bring healing it as well."

Pulling teeth came to mind again. "Yes, I suppose," he grumbled, already plotting out the next nine months worth of tidbits to feed to Vokara to keep her off his trail. She'd draw them out of him regardless.

"The Force be with you, Master Kenobi," She told him, folding away her notes into a private pocket. He was striding to the Hall exit as quickly as he dared.

"And also with you," he mumbled and fled the scene.

* * *

"Master Kenobi!" A voice chirped form behind. He turned to see Aola charging toward him, juvenile lekku swinging, a precariously balanced cup of muja juice wobbling on her tray. To her credit, it did not fall.

"Well hello there, my archival friend."

"What's arikbal?" she asked, not asking for permission as she set her food up on the table across from Ben.

"Archival," Feemor repeated, having caught up with his apprentice. "It means having to do with the archives. I believe Master Ben thinks you live there, now."

"Oh, okay," Aola nodded, perfectly happy to accept the assessment.

"Padawan, you ought to have asked before sitting down."

"Oh," she shrunk slightly. "Yes, master." Her cheeks blushed a deep violet. "I'm sorry, Master Kenobi. May I sit here?"

"Please do," Ben smiled and waved Feemor around to sit next Aola."I'm starved for company. I've been cooped up reading all day."

"Sounds like fun," Aola smiled, making evident her missing teeth. "What are you reading?"

"Not the books that you enjoy, I'm sure," Feemor chided, tucking into his salad.

"Minutes of the Galactic Senate general sessions ranging back into the last decade," Ben told her. "I'd be more than happy to share, you might find them interesting."

It certainly didn't _sound_ like the picture encyclopedias that she enjoyed, the ones with the carnivorous plants and Outer Rim fauna that had giant teeth and funny eyes. "Uuuuuhhhh," She said, brain stalling. She glanced away, looking for an escape. Her face lit up. "Master," She abandoned Ben's invitation and tugged on Feemor's sleeve. "May I go sit with my friends?" She pointed to a table some metres away where a few initiates and a padawan were eating together.

"Manners first, padawan. Answer Master Kenobi."

Aola peered back at Ben, who smiled encouragingly. She sat up straighter and managed a very mature tone. "Maybe… maybe another time, Master Kenobi, thank you for offering."

"Of course, young one."

A pause, just brief enough for Aola to sense that Feemor had registered her obedience. "…May I go now, Master?" The other children were waving at her.

"Yes. But if you want anything for dessert, you have to bring it back over here to eat it. Don't make yourself sick again."

"Yes Master!" Aola flew off the bench first, and then dashed her tray off the table. Remarkably, her muja juice managed to stay upright for its second perilous journey of the day.

"She's awfully flighty," Ben watched her go with a grin. "Sure to be a menace on the dojo," He wagered.

"Oh yes," Feemor grinned. "Quite a natural at ataru. She wants to learn jar'kai."

"Really?" Ben's eyebrows shot up. "Jar'kai _ataru?"_ he cast a look at her, limbs and lekku flailing around as she told an animated story to her friends. Imagining a saber in either of her hands made for an interesting show. "And will you let her?"

"I've told her we may revisit the idea when she becomes a senior padawan." Feemor chewed his chagrin, which in the moment tasted of leafy vegetables. "Force give me strength when that day comes. But enough of my troubles. How are you?"

"Well enough. Up to this and that. Reading, mostly, as I said."

"Yes, you did say, old Senate meetings. Why on earth have you subjected yourself to such mental drudgery?"

Ben shrugged, chewing his sandwich thoughtfully. "I've been away a long time. I had a mission recently that thrust me back into the diplomatic frays of Coruscant. I've realized that I know very little about the goings-on these days, what I've missed while out in the Rim. I thought I'd do some catching up in my free time."

"You have more discipline than I," Feemor said, taking a drink. "Tell me about this mission of yours. I've been grounded here for Aola's sake for far too long, I'd appreciate a good story or two."

Ben shrugged. "Oh, it was a fairly boring assignment," which was not a lie. The _assignment_ was boring. "A diplomatic squabble."

"Hence the senate records, yes. Where to?"

"Herdessa."

"Herdessa? Out near Ryloth?"

"Yes, the very same."

Feemor let down his fork. "You don't mean for the refugee bill, do you?"

Ben kept his expression trained. "Mmm."

Feemor's fork clattered into the bowl. "That was-" he realized he'd raised his voice. He lowered it again. "That was _you?"_

"What was me?"

"I've my connections in the archives, remember. Word has it that whoever led that mission pulled something bad enough to have it all buried beneath red tape – and a six month censure, to boot."

"Nine month, actually," Ben grumbled. Feemor's eyes widened.

"It _was_ you." He sat back, studying Ben in a new light. "Force, Ben, what did you _do?"  
_

"Oh," Ben shrugged, not really wanting to get into it. "This and that."

Feemor scoffed. "Stars, you sound like Qui-Gon."

Ben's eyebrow rose curiously. "I suppose I'll take that as a compliment," he said, taking his turn to study his lunch companion. They chewed, silent in their impasse for a few moments before Ben ventured, "For not being friends with the man, you mention Master Jinn rather often."

"Only because you keep bringing him to mind."

"And how do you know him? There's something neither of you are telling me."

Feemor sighed. "I don't want to get into this, Ben. It's in the past."

At that would have been that, but the Negotiator found himself in possession of a superior hand of cards. "Tell you what," He played his gambit, "you tell me how you and Qui-Gon _really_ know each other, and I'll tell you what happened on Herdessa."

Feemor stared him down, trying to keep his face trained and still. It was not every day that one was offered eyewitness intel on clearance level one information. Then again he'd have to pay for it… but Ben seemed the trustworthy sort. If he hadn't been so compassionate, if he hadn't been so open about his friendship with Qui-Gon, Feemor wouldn't have bothered. But Ben obviously cared.

And anway, Feemor hadn't been out on the field for a _long_ time. Living vicariously was his only way out of the Temple these days. He sighed. "You first."

Ben smiled. He launched into his tale with only slight hesitation, recounting the mission with as much detail as he dared. True to his word, he told Feemor of everything that had happened – on Herdessa. Tatooine did not enter the picture, and neither did Anakin, nor Gardulla, nor the bet, nor the twenty-two thousand Twi'lek (and thank the Force Aola was not here to make him feel even guiltier about it). Still, truncated as it was, the tale did not disappoint Ben's action-starved audience. By the time he had finished, Feemor was staring gape-mouthed from across the table, equal parts awe and utter horror written all over his face.

"Wait, wait, wait, I'm sorry," Feemor laughed, "You sabotaged it during your _lunch_ break?"

"Well, we were quite pressed for time," Ben defended.

"We?"

"Yes, it was a joint mission."

"Between you and…?"

"I don't think I ought to say; I shouldn't have told you any of this, anyhow. It would tempt the council with expulsion to know that I did." He let the subject die and allowed Feemor a last chuckle at his expense. "In any case, you know all about joint missions, of course." He sipped at his drink and eyed Feemor expectantly.

The other master sighed. "Fair enough. It's nothing as exciting as sabotage and crashing starcarriers, I'm afraid. It's all fairly simple." He shifted into a more comfortable spot and swirled his drink, watching the mesmeric circles it made rather than looking at Ben. "When I was a padawan, I trained under a master by the name of Shanall. She was strict, but very knowledgeable. I learned much at her hand. But never enough to face the Trials. As the Force willed, she was killed while on a solo mission. I was still at the Temple. I… I suppose I expected the council to forward me to my Trials, but master Yoda believe I needed more training." He looked up at Ben. "Master Jinn took me on as an apprentice, until I was knighted.

Ben's brow shot upwards, and there was no words to convey his shock. It took him a moment to say, "You were Qui-Gon's _apprentice?"_ Ben asked incredulously, mind awash in the implications of the revelation.

"His first, in fact. He only trained me for three years until I graduated, but it earned him his masterhood." Feemor's mouth twitched in a fargone smile. "It was odd, being assigned to an inexperienced teacher as a senior padawan. But Master Jinn and I became good friends. Master Shanall taught me how to be a good Jedi, but in some ways… Qui-Gon was the one who taught me how to be a good man. I'm grateful that the council kept me from the trials long enough to train with him."

It was something Ben was perfectly prepared to imagine of his old master. But in this instance… "Something happened," Ben guessed. Feemor nodded.

"I _was_ Qui-Gon's first apprentice, but…" Feemor shrugged and turned his attention back to his drink. "He does not see it that way."

"How do you mean?" Ben's senses wavered in uncertainty; he could feel something coming, something unpleasant that part of him would rather leave untouched. He brushed the feeling aside and pressed on.

"You've been away in the Outer Rim for a while, you weren't around to have seen it all, but you might've heard of a young man by the name of Xanatos?"

Ben's heart was beginning to sink. "I have. The fallen apprentice?"

"Yes. Qui-Gon's _second_ apprentice. Technically. But after… well, after _Xanatos_ happened, Qui-Gon discredited my apprenticeship."

"He _what?"_

Feemor shrugged. It hadn't been a formal thing; the Council couldn't have allowed it. It was entirely Qui-Gon being… Qui-Gon. "He was convinced that Xanatos' fall to the Dark was his fault, that there was something intrinsic to him and his teachings that pushed him toward the dark. He renounced his successes with me to validate his own suspicions. I believe he refers to Xanatos as his first apprentice, now."

Ben's right hand was a twitching fist at his side. His eyes were wide, though he was too wrapped up in his own thoughts to notice his own expression. "Just like that? Because of some upstart boy come into the picture?"

"I don't wish to paint Master Jinn in an unduly dim light, Ben," Feemor disclaimed, eyes sad. "But… yes."

Ben swallowed stiffly. A rift opened in his heart, a stitch that he'd always tried to ignore for Anakin's sake. It leaked memories he'd nearly forgotten; a council meeting at night, a disowning look, a feeling of abandonment; a rush of anger towards the only father he'd ever known.

"I'm sorry to hear that," Ben said, with a depth of sympathy Feemor would never understand.

"As I said, Master Ben," the resolution in his voice was genuine, but it was devoid of any smile or good spirit. "It's all in the past."

"Of course."

It _was_ all in the past, and potentially the future. But Anakin was on Alderaan. It couldn't happen the same way twice. And yet… Ben clenched his fist again, head spinning with the knowledge that he'd had a brother in his lineage all this time, a potential support that he'd never been allowed to know. He was the third, not the second apprentice. He was the second, not the first one who Qui-Gon had left to the wayside.

He would be the last, Force help him.

Breaking into Ben's reverie, Feemor spoke up to excuse himself to collect Aola ("before she lets them drag her into trouble again,") and wished the Force to be with him. Ben reciprocated numbly, a vein throbbing hotly by his temple as he tried to comprehend his own emotional state. It had all been buried so long beneath the rubble of war, the sands of Tatooine. How could it feel so _raw_?

But he hadn't lived by the Jedi Code when he'd stifled those memories, not the Old Code. Perhaps he'd never really relinquished those feelings after all. Perhaps they were still here by the will of the Force, to prompt him. He was here to change things, was he not?

Qui-Gon was a stubborn man and change would not come easily, but Ben knew him inside and out. A vapaad-like fury was boiling in his gut, hot and rarified into a tool of rebuke. Qui-Gon was like his father - his father who'd hidden the fact that he had an older brother, disowned for sake of the father's pride. Disowned like he would be, one day, for an inverse ambition. Circumstances had changed, but Qui-Gon would not, not unless something forced him to, and the Force was with him. Ben would not allow Obi-Wan to suffer his siblings' fate. _Ben_ would be Qui-Gon's last failure, so help him.

After wiping his mouth and returning his dishes to the serving droids, Ben left the refectory and headed straight for the residential wing. He could've walked the path to the Jinn/Kenobi residence in his sleep.


	18. Bitter Sweet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really must try to pace out the endless melodrama. These chapters can be exhausting to write - or read. My apologies for the thickets of angst!

One of the particularities of Obi-Wan Kenobi's personality was that he was of an exceptionally longsuffering temperament. He was a perfectionist, it was true, and was wont to complain when he or others did not measure up to his personal standards. He'd been a salted cynic from childhood, a trait that had only fermented with age. However, disguised beneath his furrowed brow, brooding, and overattention to detail lay hidden the fuse to Obi-Wan's actual anger. The well to his aggression was a place so distant and untapped that most people did not know it existed. The fuse to this hinterland was miles long, and its incendiary point had only ever been reached once or twice in two lifetimes.

A second particularity of Obi-Wan's personality was that, although he might not always look it, he was a man of deep feeling. Despite all training to dissuade it, he formed emotional attachments as easily as breathing, and could say of more than one person that he truly, deeply loved them. In the abstract, this presented many challenges to his orthodox Jedi philosophy. In the day to day, it presented a more immediate problem with his emotional control. Thankfully, he had an exceptionally long fuse to buffer his weaknesses, and the only people who had weapons sharp enough to cut the fuse to its quick were those that he loved and trusted most.

Assured by the trust he'd always felt so mutually with his closest confidants, Obi-Wan had only ever had to face his anger – his _real_ anger – once or twice in his entire life. Now faced with its ravenous boils, he grasped desperately at memories of Mace Windu's lessons in Vapaad, anchoring himself to the light amidst the tumult. The effort was causing his hands to quiver, even as he raised his fist to knock.

"Oh hello, Ben," Obi-Wan answered the door, chuckling the name through a dimpled grin. Wafting from within the small apartment, the Force danced with the yellow-gold glow of lighthearted banter. Ben was unable to commune.

"I need to speak with Master Jinn," he announced in a clipped, calm tone.

Obi-Wan's face transformed instantaneously, golden smile fading into an uncertain purple. There was no one in the galaxy who could've understood Ben's mood except for himself. Obi-Wan had only to look at the man's face to know that something was about to break. The padawan struggled to formulate a reply.

"I know he's here, just show me in," Ben said for him. Obi-Wan complied wordlessly, shutting the door behind the master. He gripped his hands in helpless nerve as Ben strode into the sitting room.

"Ah, Ben, I thought I heard your voice," Qui-Gon was watering his plants by the window, back turned to the newcomer. "You've come just in time to arbitrate a disagreement over Master Ta'look's technique of -"

"I need to speak with you," Ben interrupted. Qui-Gon stopped his work and turned to see the aggressive calm of the older Kenobi, the nervous stance of the padawan. Ben's right hand, just peeking out from beneath a voluminous sleeve, was shaking. Qui-Gon looked him in the eye, concern mounting.

"About what?"

If he inhaled too sharply, Ben's composure would crumble into ash. He took a very careful breath and said, "Feemor Gard."

Qui-Gon's face betrayed no emotion, but the muscles at his jaw bunched in shock. The Force's gold of before had gone stale, cooling to the color of a damp fog. Unbearable seconds ticked by, two masters watching each other while a padawan stood by in awkward attendance.

"Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon said at length, "give us a moment."

The padawan had already made a hesitant step toward the door when Ben snarled, "Why? Let him stay."

Obi-Wan froze mid-stride, and Qui-Gon looked uncertain. He cast looks between the two Kenobis, one seething, the other confused. If Ben wasn't entirely mistaken, the man looked _scared._ Eventually Qui-Gon said, "Please, padawan, just… leave us for a bit." Thus commanded, Obi-Wan's curiosity was outweighed by his alarm. He took up a small portfolio of homework and left the apartment without a word.

Disappointment and anger licked at Ben's mind. _Coward._

"I take it he's told you all about it, then," Qui-Gon surmised, crossing his arms to face his accuser.

"He did," Ben's voice sounded louder than normal as it plucked across the tense lines in the room. "Which only leaves me to wonder why you never told _me."_

Qui-Gon's jaw tensed again, twitching under his beard. Both Jedi were unused to this level of tension with anyone – let alone each other. Qui-Gon had to look away, and his eyes saddened when he said, "There was nothing to tell."

The words alone would've bounced off the shields surrounding Ben's fuse, but flying off the tongue of the only father he'd ever known, they shot through and through, foregoing the buffer altogether. Ben snarled. "Bantha chssk."

Qui-Gon seemed surprised by the outburst, and leaned into a defensive glare. "What did he tell you?"

"He told me that you were his you trained him to knighthood after his first master was killed. That you _discredited_ him entirelybecause Xanatos fell."

"That's not true."

"Isn't it? What did you do, then? _Forget_?"

"Of course not, I-"

"Pretend that Xanatos was your _first_ apprentice and expect some sort of reward for lying?"

"I acknowledged my own faults," Qui-Gon cut in, voice booming. He glared at Ben in silent reprimand for his outburst. After a sigh he explained: "Xanatos fell, you know that. And he did it because of my teachings. I could not let that go unnoted. I did what I had to do."

Qui-Gon Jinn _vulnerable_ was a sight that would normally have Ben somber and uncomfortable, but now he was too furious to let it register. " _Had_ to?" Ben scoffed. "You think far too highly of yourself, Qui-Gon Jinn. Xanatos would not have fallen or stayed in the light just because you told him to. His decision was his own. To think anything else is pure conceit."

"And you know so much about it, do you?" Qui-Gon growled back.

"More than you'd think, enough to know that it gives you no excuse to leave Feemor by the wayside because of some stupid, arrogant _brat."_

"Feemor was graduated by then. He was-"

"Out of the way," Ben broke in. "Gone from the picture, so you can do whatever the hell you want, as per usual."

"It did not affect him," Qui-Gon insisted.

"Not _affect him?"_ Ben repeated incredulously, a nasty grimace in place. The last thread of his fuse snapped away in flames. "He was your _apprentice,_ Qui-Gon! Of course it bloody well affected him, how could it not? What do you think he felt when he heard you'd written off his apprenticeship, written _him_ off, tossed aside years of friendship because of the decision of a violent, darksiding _boy?_ "

Qui-Gon said nothing.

"You _didn't_ think, did you?" The venom in his words was borne of the irony; the pupil lecturing the master. "Of course not. You're too wrapped in your precious 'here and now' to admit that sometimes, there is more to life than the _present_. I'm not sure that you know, but to most people, friendship is more than a series of moments to be systematically forgotten about. The past matters, the future _matters,_ Qui-Gon. The fact that I'm here at all is a testament to that." Ben took a deep breath and let it out again in a huff. "Force damn you _,_ Jinn,I'd forgotten how obtuse you were."

Yet, if Ben had taken a moment to consider, he might've wondered why Qui-Gon was being so quiet, why he hadn't attempted to take up the unrelenting offense that he'd loved so well when Obi-Wan was an apprentice.

"Why does it mean so much to you?" Qui-Gon asked eventually, pained and angry.

Ben listened to the rhythm of his own breathing for a moment, heart pounding in his ears, Force running red. After shaking away the hottest core of his anger so he could see more clearly, he proceeded in a tone simultaneously soft, dangerous, and immeasurably sad: "Because you wrote off the accomplishments of your own apprentice in a moment, because you sacrificed years of friendship for the sake of an ungrateful boy and your own damned ego." Tears caused his voice to waver, but he would not let them reach his eyes. "Because you did it once, and unless you are very careful, Qui-Gon Jinn, you will do it all over again – and when you do, there will be no one to call your bluff."

The accusation sunk into the room like a knife into flesh. Stunned by the blow, Qui-Gon said nothing. Just as the blood began to well up, Ben added in the same, eye-of-the-storm tone, "So when Obi-Wan comes back here and asks you why you sent him away, you either tell him the truth, or you tell him to leave and _not_ come back." Ben's eyes fluttered away from Qui-Gon, feeling he'd bared too much. "It will save him a world of pain."

Qui-Gon stood staring at Ben in unresponsive silence. Ben ran a shaking hand over his mouth and beard, hardly believing his own outburst. Unable to look Qui-Gon in the eye, he shook his head, turned on his heel and stormed from the room.

* * *

His frustration, embarrassment, and anger made his own movements a blur. After some length of time, Ben found himself standing in that ancient basement level once more, the stagnant, stone-cold air swallowing him and his anger in a static cocoon. He had not yet reached out toward the Force's calm waters when it stretched out a hand and snapped off the poison tip of his anger with all the care and adamancy of a parent. He took a shaky breath and let it out again, aerated uncertainty echoing off the vast chamber walls.

A soft reflection turned toward him in the dark. Ben found himself in the room, again, in an entirely different way.

"What are you doing here?" He asked Obi-Wan more snappishly than he ever would have meant to. It was uncanny – understandable, but uncanny nonetheless – how the boy kept _being there_ , wherever and whenever Ben was there.

Obi-Wan fumbled to stand, gesturing awkwardly with his datapad. "Um… homework." It was obvious from his stance and his shifty eyes that he was uncomfortable. Handling personal conflict had never been a forte of his; handling person conflict _with Qui-Gon_ had never… well, it had never _been._ Not truly. And definitely not via the uncharted conduit of his future self, who apparently had old scores to settle with his former Master.

"Right," Ben said, and passed by Obi-Wan to lower himself into a seat on the floor, back leaned up against a jagged slope of granite that had once been part of the floor. Obi-Wan observed silently for a while, and eventually said,

"What… what was that about?"

Ben looked up at himself. It must've been the question burning in his head for the past hour. "I think that's a question best saved for your master," he said, tone suggesting unintentional contempt.

Obi-Wan nodded with palpable hesitation. Did he want to go back to prod the beast? Ben read his expression like a book and reflected the sentiment in his own features. Did _he_ want Obi-Wan to go back?

"I'd… best be going, Master Kenobi."

"No, wait," Ben blurted before he could catch his tongue. Obi-Wan looked back at him, eyes begging the question. _Tell him to leave and not come back._ "Qui-Gon, he…" did he trust Qui-Gon? Of course. Did he trust him enough to not lie to Obi-Wan _?_ It occurred to Ben that, for once, it didn't matter if he trusted Qui-Gon. It mattered only that Qui-Gon trusted _him._ "He… he'll want to speak with you," Ben finished lamely.

"Right," Obi-Wan said, uncertain as to the source of Ben's concern but too puzzled to inquire further. "…Goodnight, Ben."

Ben only nodded and waved a hand.

Obi-Wan left his counterpart in the quiet and dark, wishing he could feel the tumult of Qui-Gon's pacing hundreds of floors above, to feel the gratifying balm of his remorse spread on the wounds that he'd inflicted. But the Force only smothered him again, inviting him to forget time and space here in this sacred space, simply to _be._ When he left this place, the spell would be broken. But, too tired to put up a fight, he sat back and allowed his mind to run blank.

* * *

Ben saw neither Qui-Gon nor Obi-Wan for several days. He did see Master Yoda, who had invited him to tea weeks ago. Communing with the grandmaster on such mundane matters seemed a trifle amid the chaos of his mind.

"Hmm, disturbed you are," observed the old grandmaster as he hobbled his way around the dingy apartment. Ben ducked under a low-hung light and knelt by Yoda's low tea table. "Hurt, are you?"

"In a way," the younger admitted. Ben knew it was folly to lie to Yoda; in this arena, evasion was the tactic of choice.

"Hmm," hummed his green interrogator. "Many kinds of injury, there are. Bad ones, and good ones, yes. In which way are you, young Kenobi?"

"I'm not sure."

This made Yoda chuckle as he floated a tin of tea down from a high counter. "Wise he is to know that injuries both good and bad can be," he spoke as if to an invisible audience. "Not wise enough to see both clearly, hmm,"

While they waited for the tea to steep, they spoke of everything yet discussed nothing. Yoda prodded here and there asking about Ben's studies, the future, but Ben evaded the inquiries expertly, reminding Yoda that Vokara Che was already on his case and needed no assistance. They spoke of lightsaber combat and katas and how nine months of dedicated solo practice would make him a better saber instructor than he had been before – if the council allowed him back, of course.

Eventually, the topic turned to Obi-Wan and, by a matter of course, Qui-Gon. Ben was in exceptional control of his emotions even when the matter came up, but Yoda was, if nothing else, astute to a fault.

"Bristle at the name of your old master, you do," the troll said, using the Force to pour their tea in an airborne dance. Ben watched the display sullenly.

"It is with the Force," the platitude was a farce on his tongue because it was not with the Force, it was with him: forged into the deep valley between his eyebrows.

"Hmm," Yoda's enigmatic hum encapsulated a thousand words at once. He drank from his tea and sunk contentedly into his seat. Ben prepared followed suit, but upon tasting the brew his face twisted into a grimace and he choked into his cup.

"Master Yoda," He asked once recovered, looking at his small ceramic bowl with deepest betrayal. "What kind of tea is this?"

" _Expensive_ tea it is," Yoda chided as if reprimanding a tasteless youngling. "Spit it onto my carpet you do, most rude."

"It's terribly oversteeped, Master, it's gone bitter." Ben said, sniffing tea with an uncertain look. He blew out the smell and rubbed his mouth.

"Making tea I have been since before your ancestors were born! Oversteeped it is not. Drink too quickly you do," Yoda said, taking a slow, snub-nosed sip. "To anxious are you to get to the end. Savor it you must."

Ben eyed the grandmaster with suspicion. He was, after all, talking to a creature who hadn't cleaned his floorboards in centuries and whose apartment smelled of moss and stale air. Still, with great reluctance, Ben lifted the cup to his mouth and drank. He willed himself to endure the bitter sting on his tongue to savor it as best he could.

To his utter surprise, the tea turned sweet on his tongue - as sweet as if he'd laced it with the finest aged honey. He sat back in his seat half in surprise and half in pure relief, swirling the taste around in his mouth before swallowing.

"Oh," he said, mollified. Yoda chuckled into another sip.

"In its homeworld, _anli-itey_ this tea is called."

"Bitter sweet," Ben translated.

"Yes. Good things, sometimes wait for them we must. Fine tea masters know this." Yoda took another appreciative drink. "Make good Jedi, tea masters would, hmm?" He chuckled at his own joke.

Ben took a second taste, bitterer and sweeter than the first. He watched the dregs swirling in the bowl, unassuming and unpredictable. He glanced up at Master Yoda and wondered how the troll was so good at hiding his seemingly boundless knowledge. "A metaphor," Ben nodded. "Point taken, Master."

"Metaphor?" If the look of surprise on Yoda's face was artificial, Ben would never have guessed it. "Not metaphor this is. _Tea_ this is. Hmmph. Look for metaphors in _tea_ you do now. Brood too much you do, as told you I have so many times."

Ben wondered distantly if resting and waiting were the same, or only related. He took another sip and found the bitterness easier to bear. "Of course, Master. My apologies."

* * *

It was the middle of the night when Ben opened his front door to find Qui-Gon Jinn standing on the threshold. It had been not quite a week since their confrontation.

"May I come in?" asked the master, who looked a great deal older than he had days prior.

Unfamiliar rage had waned into that familiar breed of sadness indigenous to Tatooine. Ben stepped aside. "Of course." Qui-Gon entered, and the door hissed shut behind him. The two stared at each other in silence until Ben ventured,

"Master, I,"

Qui-Gon held out a hand, and that small part of Ben that would always heed his master's instructions made him hold his tongue.

"When Obi-Wan came back, it was very late. I… almost let him go on to bed without saying anything. But he said that you'd told him I wanted to speak with him."

Ben crossed his arms deliberately. "And what did you tell him?"

The wait was seconds and lightyears long. "Everything."

Ben let out a breath that he hadn't realized he'd been holding.

"Did you really think I wouldn't?"

"I don't know. You never told me."

They sat down together in Ben's small living room, Qui-Gon moving carefully to avoid the growing woosha and its leaves.

"The fact that I didn't surprises me," Qui-Gon admitted as he sat. Ben raised his brows.

"Had you planned to ever tell me?"

"Well… no. But the Force works through us constantly. I thought that, should you need to know… the Force would prompt me to tell you."

Ben actually laughed at the notion. "You are one of the Force's most stubborn disciples, Qui-Gon. Would you have been willing to listen?"

Qui-Gon had the grace to shrug and say nothing.

"How did Obi-Wan take it?"

"As well as I might expect, which is to say not well at all." He glanced at Ben's face, wondering if there was any residual resentment hiding behind the taciturn auburn beard. "Though in comparison to his predecessor, he took it in stride." The memory of that night and Ben's unbridled anger passed between them unspoken. "I am very sorry, Ben, for never telling you – telling Obi-Wan, that is."

"It's not that you didn't tell me," Ben clarified, shaking his head and rubbing at his temples. "It's not… I'm not truly that mad about Feemor. It's just…" When Ben couldn't finish, he sighed instead.

"What did I do to you to anger you so much?" Qui-Gon asked, quieter than Ben had ever heard him.

Incriminating someone for their future sins felt like preying on the helpless. "You abandoned me," Ben pressed on anyway. "Set me aside for a promising young boy you wished to take as your apprentice."

Qui-Gon blinked, not completely understanding. "Abandoned?"

"I hadn't yet graduated," Ben explained. "You told the council you would train him. You were denied because of me. You told the council that I was ready for my trials – something you had never before mentioned to anyone, let alone myself. We hardly spoke to each other after that."

Qui-Gon's expression of hurt was confused and disbelieving. "And no one called my bluff," he recalled from their argument.

Ben's chin quivered just slightly, and he had to look down at his hands in order to say, "No. There was no time."

"For?"

"You were killed," Ben was astonished at the calm with which he managed the words. "You could not train the boy or me. I graduated without you."

Qui-Gon sat back as if struck. By nature of Qui-Gon's death preceding Obi-Wan's knighthood, there had been no official nullification of their training bond. It had shriveled away in Ben's mind years ago after Qui-Gon had passed, but after lying latent for decades in a dead dimension, it twitched to life so that Ben could feel his master's heartache.

A thousand questions passed between them without words. "We hadn't the time to make up before you… left," Ben said, still refusing to look up. He remained there alone with his thoughts for several long minutes.

He felt the couch beneath him dip when Qui-Gon sat down next to him. The man's palm on his back burned like a lightsaber strike and the disinfectant poured on top. "Ben," Qui-Gon broke the silence, "I cannot claim that I am a different man, that I would never do that, because it would be at least half of a lie. But I…" thoughts on the importance of time, of the past, the future, and moments to be treasured presented themselves in turn for consideration. In the end, the Jedi master was reduced to a place of humility. "I am so sorry, Obi-Wan. Please forgive me, if you can."

Ben did not think about the fact that he hadn't embraced his master since that horrible day on Naboo. But here they were, after thirty-three years, arms wrapped around each others' shoulders, noses squashed against robes, chests compressed with the pressure that spelled out the invisible notes of _family._

"Don't let it happen, please," Ben asked, muffled through the robes on Qui-Gon's shoulder. "It will break him without his knowing." Qui-Gon could make no promises, and they both knew it, but he nodded in the understanding that soothed all odds of uncertainty.

"The Force will present a solution," he said with reassurance. Ben only nodded.

At length, they drew away. Ben would have offered tea, but it did not feel the time.

"I have spoken with Obi-Wan, and with you. I suppose I need to speak with Feemor next," Qui-Gon sighed.

Ben made no comment, but as he lost himself in thought, a warm smile spread over his face. "You haven't met your grandpadawan, have you?" he realized. Qui-Gon turned toward him, suddenly aghast at the notion of a _grandpadawan._ Ben's smile grew wider.

"You're going to love her."

"Will I?"

"She wants to master jar'kai ataru." Ben turned to watch Qui-Gon's face with a deadpan expression. "She's eleven."

Qui-Gon's burst of laughter warmed the entire room. "But Feemor _detests_ ataru," he remembered through a smile.

"Force give him strength, then," Ben replied, and they laughed together. The bitter taste in Ben's mouth turned, one iota at a time, into honey. "He'll be glad for your help in that arena, I'm sure."

The idea struck a measure of uncertainty back into Qui-Gon's expression. "Perhaps I've left it too long to breech."

"The past matters, Qui-Gon," Ben reminded. "But the future matters as well."

"Yes," the taller man said, ruminating on the currents of time that ran through everything that Ben touched. Things changed whenever Ben was around; the future shifted toward some unseen goal, bitter or sweet or both. "Yes, of course." He smiled at his apprentice. His friend? In some unexpected way, his master. "I must be more mindful of it."

Ben smiled back, lifting up his shoulders under the yoke of _teacher_ as naturally as a fish to water. To repay the favor of guidance to the man he thought of as a father was the most bittersweet sip so far. "As must we all."


	19. New Steps Forward

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like I should say: I was a bit buzzed when I wrote the second half of this chapter. You'll have to tell me if drinking and writing is a good or bad idea.

Nine months was a long time, but one week passed by like water.

"Vokara."

"Ben."

Ben sighed. Vokara crossed her legs and swept one lekku over her shoulder. Her stylus clicked open and she held it poised and ready above her flimsy.

"You're enjoying this far too much," Ben accused.

"I'm getting comfortable for the arduous task ahead. Now how much time are you hoping your silver tongue will buy you this time – twenty minutes? Thirty?"

Ben rubbed a hand over his face. He'd already made up his mind before he'd stepped in the door, but that didn't make opening his mouth any less difficult. "None, actually. I've already decided what to divulge to you today."

Vokara squinted at him. When a mind like Ben Kenobi's surrendered _this_ easily, there was always a catch. "You've found a loophole, I presume. Are you going to tell me by what exact figure your tunic size differs from that of your fifteen-year-old self?"

"No – though that's not a bad idea." The thought would have normally made him laugh, but Ben's smile was minimal, mind weighed down by the task at hand. "No, it's rather serious, actually."

"Oh." Vokara sobered, taken aback by the man's openness but knowing better than to mention it. "Go on."

Ben took a deep breath and sat back. "Qui-Gon did not live to see me knighted." He'd braced himself for the wave of shock that radiated off of Master Che, but it still made him wince. "He was killed on a mission before he could recommend me. The whole ordeal that led to his death was actually retroactively dubbed my trials. So, in a morbid way," Ben acknowledged the bitter irony, "he did see me knighted, though not in a manner that anyone would ever hope for."

"Were you there?" Vokara asked in a still voice.

Ben's breath hitched in his throat upon remembering the dead weight of his mentor bleeding onto his lap. "The whole time."

To render his interrogator speechless would've normally been a victory, but Vokara's shocked silence was resoundingly hallow in Ben's ears. He waited patiently for her to respond.

"Why are you telling me this?"

"I thought you said you wanted to know about me."

"I did – I do. But when I first dragged you in here, you were all but clawing at the doorframe – what's changed your mind?"

"My mind hasn't changed at all, Master Che. But…" Ben shrugged. "The topic came up during the week with a… different person, and since I already told them, I figured I might as well tell you, too. You're the one taking notes, anyway."

Reminded, Vokara scribbled furiously at her notepad, which she'd neglected in her surprise. After she was done, she asked, "How did Qui-Gon take it?"

It was Ben's turn to be surprised. "How do you know I told him?"

"Ben," she gave him a pointed look. Her lekku twitched in offhand Twi'Lek slang, but Ben needn't have been conversant in Ryl to understand the unspoken " _I'm not stupid."_

"He took it as well as anyone is ought to when they're told about their death. I think he was more concerned for Obi-Wan's sake than for himself."

Vokara allowed herself a bittersweet smile. "That does not surprise me," She said quietly. Ben shook his head.

"No."

A pause. Vokara jotted a few things down. "I must admit, I had my suspicions on the matter, though to hear it so plainly is a shock."

Ben frowned deeply. "How do you mean?"

"I don't know if you know, but you refer to him in the past tense rather often. You also once said that you'd only ever known him as your master." Ben was unused to being read so easily by slips of his own making, and the surprise must've shown through on his face. "As much as you'd like to hide your past, Master Kenobi, the truth will out one way or another."

"Yes," The memory of his argument with Qui-Gon resurfaced. "The longer I am here, the more painfully that fact makes itself known."

"That is why you are here, Master Kenobi," Vokara reminded him. "So next time you wish to tell me of your shirt size or your favorite color, try to consider how you want your past to emerge – to me, in confidentiality, or accidentally in conversation with Force knows who."

Ben didn't like admitting that a healer could be _right,_ so he said nothing as he nodded. The point was made regardless.

* * *

That evening, in a very different frame of mind, Ben's vulnerable self was once again squared away behind its everyday armor. In this particular case, the armor was double thick; the Negotiator was elbow deep into a new plot, and it was going absolutely perfectly.

He was funneling vegetables into boiling water when a knock came at his door.

"Come in," he said, loudly enough for the incomer to hear.

"That smells wonderful," Qui-Gon sniffed appreciatively, coming over to peer at the simmering pot and the stove, which radiated with a warm glow.

"I've learned to make do," Ben shrugged. Tatooine was hadly the galaxy's seat of culinary excellence, but creativity and invention had long been his helpmates in the kitchen. Now with Coruscant's diverse edible offerings, he'd become something of a hobbyist.

Qui-Gon, who Ben knew had never been all that gifted around food, chuckled. He helped himself to a fingerful of a creamy herb spread, which was destined for the bread baking in the oven.

"You know, excessive modesty is as much a vice as boasting."

Ben laughed. "Modesty? It's hardly fine dining, Qui-Gon."

"Isn't it?"

"Oh Force," Ben lamented. "Your poor apprentice."

Qui-Gon scoffed and shook his head, but gave no rebuttal as he took a second taste of the spread. "Do you need any help?"

"No, I'm nearly done, though it'll have to cook a while. Put the kettle on if you like."

Qui-Gon did, and the Negotiator put the lid on the stew, which was in fact perfectly ready to eat, and took the bread out of the oven to cool. The meal itself was entirely ready to eat, but Qui-Gon wouldn't know that. Ben was banking on it.

He'd timed it perfectly, so that the tea was already steeped and poured and Qui-Gon comfortably settled into a chair when the second knock came at the front door.

"You expecting someone?"

Ben said nothing in reply, and stood to answer the door. As he did, he interposed his body between Qui-Gon's line of sight at that of the newcomer. "Please, come in," He gestured to the visitor - visitors, actually. The younger of the two bounded into Qui-Gon's view first, a boisterous blue twi'lek girl. She distracted him for a moment, after which he looked back up and straight into the face of Feemor Gard, who was staring back at him with equal shock.

Ben glanced between them. "I believe you two know each other," He commented mildly.

The tension between the former master-apprentice pair was palpable, blocky and awkward. Aola could sense the disturbance as easily as any of them, but had not the life experience to decipher the nuances of remorse, grudge, and old hurt. Instead, she only knew that her master was uncomfortable, and therefore she was uncomfortable as a result.

"Master, who's that?" She whispered, stepping subtly to stand behind Feemor's arm. Feemor didn't break his eyes away from Qui-Gon as he shook his head. "Not now, Padawan."

As the silence grew more awkward and cold, Ben stood by with an easy smile. "Right then. Help yourself to dinner, I've kept it warm. Bread's on the counter, knife's in the cupboard, and I believe Master Jinn's just made a pot of tea," at which point Master Jinn glared at Ben over his share of said tea. "Aola," Ben continued in the same breath, turning to smile down at the uncertain apprentice, "Before we eat - I'd nearly forgotten, but I've recently acquired some books that I think you might enjoy, would you like to see them?"

"Oh," the padawan perked up slightly. "Yes please, Master Kenobi."

"Right this way," Ben gestured to the small hallway that led to his room, where he kept his desk and books. As Aola crossed the room to the door, Ben glanced over her head at his guests-turned-captives. Qui-Gon was still glaring at him, but instead of reiterating his smile of before, Ben sent the man a very stern, very serious look. Their recently resurrected bond was primitive and unused, but its tenuous connection helped emphasize Ben's message: _The future matters too. Be mindful of that._

Qui-Gon's jaw stiffened, but he blinked contritely a few times and turned his attention back to Feemor. Stripped of any pretextual glee, Ben glanced between the pair one last time before excusing himself to distract Aola from the carefully planned confrontation with an armful of picture encyclopedias he'd picked out for her.

When the door latched shut, Feemor and Qui-Gon continued to look at each other. Feemor cleared his throat first.

"He's got this all planned out, I see."

"Yes, he seems to have a penchant for this sort of thing," Qui-Gon said.

It was hard for each man to look at the other - not for the bad blood between them, but for the passing of time made evident in flesh. Qui-Gon's hair had been thick and full brown that last that Feemor had seen of it; now, it was streaked with grey at the temples and the roots. Feemor himself sported several silver strands, though they were camouflaged by close-cropped blond. Doubtless, the first thing that struck Qui-Gon was the sight of his former apprentice with crowsfeet at his eyes and wrinkles on his brow.

Qui-Gon was eleven years older than Feemor. When they had been paired together, the years had been broader. Qui-Gon a thirty-one year old knight, Feemor a not-quite twenty year old padawan. The lines of authority and experience had been clear-cut in those days, even though their situation had been unconventional. But that was eons ago. Time had since worn thin the laws of seniority. Had not their history imposed itself so presently on his mind, Qui-Gon realized, he and Feemor would have automatically treated each other as equals. They _were_ equals.

Inside, Qui-Gon Jinn felt smaller than he had in a long, long time. He was such a fool.

When Feemor made no further attempt to speak, Qui-Gon finally accepted that he was the one in the room who bore the burden of proof.

"Feemor," He said, and Feemor couldn't hold back the small glare he gave. Qui-Gon backpeddled to a more formal, "Master Gard. I…" He drew in a deep breath. It was such a foreign and awkward word, but so simple to say. "I am so sorry."

Feemor said nothing.

"I'm sorry I discredited you – I had no authority or reason to do so. I'm sorry about Xanatos. About… everything." He paused to think and Feemor's continued silence made it worse. He closed his eyes to ignore the piercing stare and pressed onward. "I've known for years that I was wrong, that all the reasons I gave myself were just the excuses of a stubborn old man, but I was too damn afraid to admit it." He shook his head. "Imagine that, a Jedi master afraid. I was wrong to take it out on anyone, least of all you. I understand if you cannot forgive me for it, but I do want you to know that I am sorry for it – all of it."

After another long pause, Feemor sighed. "Qui-Gon," He said quietly, and shook his head at the absurdity of the whole thing. "Master, do you really think I _wouldn't_ forgive you?" Qui-Gon looked up at him. Feemor was struck with the memory of exactly _how_ stubbornly rooted this man was. "You did, didn't you?" He asked, and it felt almost like a bad joke. He shook his head with the smallest of smiles. "Qui-Gon, Master of the Living Force," Feemor finally came over to the sitting area where Qui-Gon remained frozen in place with his teacup disused in his hands, "you have much to learn about people."

Being put in your place by your own padawans was a recent and recurrent trend. "So I've been told."

With Feemor having broken the kinetic friction in the air, Qui-Gon felt free to move. He set his tea on the table and fidgeted more awkwardly than a grown man should.

"Ben?" Feemor guessed.

"Yes. Soon after he spoke with you about all this, I gather."

Feemor lifted his brows. "Aye. I had no idea he'd take to it like this."

"Was he wrong to?"

"No. Though I wonder why he took it out on you."

Qui-Gon shrugged, unable to explain neither the depth of Ben's feeling nor the reasons behind it. "I deserved it. Truly. Though he was quite… adamant about it." In point of fact, Qui-Gon had never before had the privilege or the horror of seeing Obi-Wan _angry_ before. Frustrated and agitated, yes, but not truly, righteously _angry_. It had been a harrowing slap in the face to behold, one meant to wake him from his stupor. "I've been wrong for so long, I didn't want to admit it. He reminded me how obtuse I can be – as I'm sure you remember well."

Feemor nodded slowly, fiddling with his fingers. "It… it did hurt," he said. "When I heard. I hadn't a clue what to think. I'd been trying to figure out how to send my condolences about Xanatos when someone advised me about your, uh… decision." Feemor looked up at his old master, and it was Qui-Gon's turn to avert his eyes. "You are right to apologize, of course." It was meant to sting, and Qui-Gon winced in his turn. "But I am equally right to forgive you. I'm _glad_ to, Master. I'm just glad to see you again."

The two finally met eyes properly, and Feemor gave an awkward smile. He glanced at the pot of tea that Qui-Gon had on the low table. "Still drinking the same horrid leaf water, I see."

"Aged sapir."

"Yes, I recognized the odor." Feemor glanced at the kitchen and its simmering pots and pans. "You didn't help him cook any of that, did you?"

"No."

"Good."

Qui-Gon rolled his eyes. Feemor tried and failed to hide his grin. After a moment of silence, he said, "I've missed this."

"As have I," Qui-Gon replied. Awkwardly, he stood and extended a hand of truce. Feemor rose solemnly and moved to shake hands. He pulled the other man into a hug instead.

"Thank you," Qui-Gon said him after they'd parted. Feemor only smiled.

"It's good to finally see you again, Master Jinn."

Good, but not familiar. As the post-reconciliatory air staled into a mundane shade of awkward, Ben emerged from his diversion as if on cue, with Aola in tow.

"Master, master, look at this!" Aola charged forward with a holobook glowing triumphantly with what Feemor could already tell was going to be a gory depiction of nature's horrifying food chain.

"Oh no," He said quietly to himself, an utterance completely neglected by his apprentice, who thrust the book out for his consideration. "It can swallow a gundark _whole!"_

"Goodness," Feemor commented mildly, taking the proffered book with a longsuffering expression. He didn't notice how Qui-Gon was disguising a smile and watching Aola with a new, special breed of interest.

"And look how cute the babies are," she pointed.

"Good heavens, are those _teeth?_ "

"Yeah!"

Ben chuckled. "Aola, perhaps we should postpone discussions of exotic fauna until after dinner?"

"Yes, Master Kenobi," Aola said, and obediently closed the book and surrendered it to her host. With no more betoothed baby animals to distract her, Aola suddenly noticed Qui-Gon's presence once more. A resurgent discomfort beset her and she stood by her master with carefully but not perfectly hidden alarm. "Hello," She said, and glanced up at her master in a silent plea for help.

"Padawan, this is Master Qui-Gon Jinn," Feemor told her. "Master Jinn, this is my padawan, Aola Tarkona." Qui-Gon's expression was one he'd never worn before, unreadable save for the small smile, which spoke volumes. Aola bowed respectfully.

"It is nice to meet you, Master Jinn."

Qui-Gon bowed slightly from his seat. "As with you, Padawan Tarkona."

"Aola, Master Jinn, he…" Feemor began, and glanced at Qui-Gon in the sudden realization – and relief - that this man might actually become a part of his life again. "When I was younger, Master Jinn was _my_ master," he said.

It took a moment for Aola to process this information, but when she did, she turned back to Master Jinn with a look of hero worship. "Wow," She said reverently. After a brief pause, she added in an unabashed tone, "you must be really old."

At the exact same time, Qui-Gon's eyebrows rose several inches, Feemor sighed and put a hand over his eyes, and Ben burst out laughing. Aola blushed indigo, realizing her faux pas too late.

"The archives can teach one many things about silence," Ben commented, favoring Feemor with a sympathetic look. "But they cannot, I'm afraid, imbue one with sound judgment."

"I'm sorry, Master Jinn," Aola said, retroactively mortified. Qui-Gon chuckled, a corner of his heart already won over.

"It's quite alright, padawan. From your point of view, I must be very old indeed." He glanced up at Feemor, who looked as though he might just be the most overwhelmed master in the entire Temple. "Though not quite as old, I think, as your master might be by the end of today."

This concept puzzled Aola, but she needn't have worried herself with it for much longer. Ben moved back toward the kitchen.

"You may both berate me later, but I promise this stew wasn't a pretense. Now help me eat it before it goes cold."

* * *

Feemor and Aola left first, on account of Aola having a very early class the following morning. Qui-Gon shared a surprisingly easy farewell with his former padawan and his newly met grandpadawan. After they were both out the door, Ben leaned against the doorframe.

"I suppose I ought to apologize for the deception," he told Feemor in a humble tone. "But I didn't think either of you would agree if I'd been transparent about my plan."

Feemor regarded the other man through a squint. "Make a habit of this kind of stunt, Kenobi, and you'll have something to apologize for. But… I should probably be thanking you." Feemor cast another look at Qui-Gon, who was still inside, helping to clean up after dinner. "He listens to you," Feemor observed. "I've only met a few people who can get him to do that."

Ben nodded, not sure of what to say. "Yourself included?"

Feemor shrugged. "Patchily."

"Probably more than you think. Time will tell."

"Hmm," Feemor nodded, watching Qui-Gon carefully. Eventually, he shook himself. "You _should,_ however, apologize for whatever garbage you gave Aola. I'll not hear the end of this gundark-eating monstrosity-"

"A Vanquorian sand whale."

"-whatever it is – for a month at least. She's meant to be studying the galactic astrograpy maps, not outer rim biology."

"My apologies. Although, you must admit, her enthusiasm is charming."

"You've mispronounced 'alarming'."

Ben laughed. "Goodnight, Feemor."

"Goodnight."

Ben closed the door and turned back into his apartment where Qui-Gon was stacking bowls. Familiar with Qui-Gon's rubric on deception (apprentice or not) Ben assessed the fallout in a causal tone.

"I suppose I can expect to pay for my subterfuge in some way."

"I was going to challenge you to a spar tomorrow evening."

"I accept."

"As easily as that?"

Ben smiled. "As easily as that."

They worked in silence, both enjoying the soft afterimage of fellowship imprinted into the Force. The evening had been an admirable success, for which Ben's Negotiator pride was swelled to its fullest degree.

"I must admit," Qui-Gon broke the silence after they were done putting away dishes and cleaning the table, "suddenly having a grandpadawan is a very odd sensation."

"Oh, nonsense," Ben said, sitting down on his couch and thumbing curiously through the encyclopedia with which Aola had been so entranced. "Having a grandpadawan is quite fun, actually. It's like having a padawan, except without the fussier bits of teaching."

Qui-Gon raised one brow high. "And you would know?"

Ben glanced at him. He'd told Vokara that he wasn't going to mention his age to Qui-Gon, but then again, he'd also sworn that he wasn't going to tell Vokara anything about the future. Somehow, telling one precipitated telling the other. It was not something that he would have chosen for himself before, but now that he had one foot planted in front of the other on this narrow ledge, the Force sang at him with rightness.

"I don't think I've ever mentioned, but I was not this brisk young man you see before you in the moments before I appeared in this Temple's basement. I was actually a great deal older."

"Really?" Qui-Gon was taken aback, but intrigued. "How much older?"

"That I will leave to your imagination. I will only tell you that I do know a thing or two about having a grandpadawan, and believe me, Master, you'll like it immensely."

"Hmm," was all Qui-Gon said, leaning back to ponder. Ben scrolled through encyclopedia entries on far-flung ecosystems and grimaced every once in a while at the holo illustrations. At those which Aola would likely find most fascinating, the Negotiator allowed a quiet, "so uncivilized."

Qui-Gon watched him quietly, imagining what kind of apprentice Obi-Wan would've attracted, and what sort of apprentices his apprentices would tow into their lineage. Then, he considered what he knew of Feemor from back when they'd known each other better, and what he'd seen in Aola over the course of one evening.

Qui-Gon had never had a particularly close relationship with his master. Aside from his current apprentice and distinguished grandmaster, the threads of lineage and heritage that typically bound Jedi families together were a foreign and uncharted expanse in his mind. He hardly had a sterling track record when it came to such typical attachments.

Even so, he was a disciple of the Living Force, which was already arresting his uncertainty, telling him his path before he was sure of any of it. "I suppose it has some appeal to it," he decided eventually. "I'll have to keep my eye on them."

Ben beamed, setting his book aside. "That's the spirit."

* * *

Ben ran into Obi-Wan by chance the following day, as he was returning the encyclopedias he'd borrowed for Aola's benefit. The apprentice was slouched into one of the rounded window seats a study alcove, his arms wrapped around an astronavigation volume, which he held just a few inches away from his face, blue light washing over his features and casting particular shadows on his cleft chin and furrowed brow.

"Brooding even over homework," Ben commented, leaning into the small, doorless room. Obi-Wan started, nearly dropping his book. "It's just me," Ben chuckled. "What are you working on?"

Obi-Wan sat up and winced as the blood rushed back to his head. "Remedial astronavigation."

"Ah," Ben nodded. With the annoying habit of self-knowledge, he was able to read Obi-Wan as easily as the open holobook on the bench. "You're still mad at Qui-Gon, aren't you?"

Obi-Wan straightened up to protest, but then realized that it was useless. He sighed heavily. Ben let himself into the small room and waited for Obi-Wan to say something.

"Why didn't he _tell_ me?" it was a question Ben had asked himself a thousand times in the same pained, betrayed tone that Obi-Wan affected now.

"That, I do not know. But I do know that he wants nothing more than to make up for his mistakes. For Feemor's sake and for yours. Give him grace."

This suggestion was met with an expression of pinched uncertainty, the need to scratch and itch without knowing where exactly it lay. Ben thought he could hazard a guess.

It was so easy to forget how young Obi-Wan actually was at this point in time. He'd seen a lot for a boy his age, but he was, at root, still just a boy. He'd only been an apprentice for two and a half years. "I know it is hard to let go. Believe me. Why do you think he asked you to leave the room? I haven't yelled at anyone like that in years."

Obi-Wan looked up at him with mild surprise. Ben shrugged and came to sit by his younger self. "This may not be your first reminder, but it is likely one of the more important of its kind: Qui-Gon is human. He's fallible. Prone to the same whims and emotions as us all. He makes mistakes, and they have fallout. That does not make him any less wise or deserving of your trust."

"But…" Obi-Wan shook his head, heart caught on the betrayal of it all. "He just… said nothing. I've been so afraid of failing this whole time, ending up like Xanatos. If I had known that there was another…" the boy shrugged helplessly, unable to articulate what exactly his heart ached over.

"Yes, but now you do know," Ben told him. "That is a gift never given to me. This is a crossroads, Obi-Wan, for all of us. Qui-Gon knows it was wrong to hide it from you- he's said it many times over to me, doubtless to you as well."

Obi-Wan looked down at his feet following the last comment, confirming Ben's suspicions. Eventually he found a quiet voice and said, "The code… the one you gave me. It says emotion _yet_ peace. But… every time I try, I just get caught. I think the new code works better for me."

Ben shook his head softly and grasped Obi-Wan's shoulder in a steady grip. "Emotion _yet_ peace. What do you think that means?"

"That… in the midst of our emotions, we can find peace." It was an amalgamation of Ben's own words, with very little real comprehension behind it.

"And what does that mean? For this situation."

"That… I…" Obi-Wan wrestled with his thoughts as if trying to answer a complicated equation before sighing in defeat. "That's just it. I don't think it works. Not for me, not right now."

"Listen," Ben said, giving Obi-Wan the slightest shake for attention. "Qui-Gon betrayed you. He hid from you something which you had every right to know. But in the midst of that betrayal, you still know that he is the same man who's trained you so faithfully these past years. Whom you care for. He's still the same man you're beginning to regard as a father."

Such attachments were forbidden; Obi-Wan shot the master with a look of surprise, but Ben only eyed him knowingly. "I'm _you,_ remember."

The apprentice nodded slowly and allowed the lesson to continue.

"In the midst of all the frustration and anger than I have no doubt you are feeling, you must learn to see through – not past – your emotions to the fact that Qui-Gon still has your best interests at heart. He is teaching you how to be a good Jedi – how to be a good man. But you must also repay the favor by teaching him that he can acknowledge his mistakes with grace." Ben paused to let the advice sink in. He smiled slightly as he said, "He is a very stubborn learner. He'll need both of our help to get it into his head." Which made Obi-Wan smile.

"I've never met Feemor," Obi-Wan admitted at length.

"No? Oh. Well, he's a good man. He actually works here in the archives, once in a while, with his padawan Aola. Which reminds me…" Ben glanced at Obi-Wan's homework. "You might learn these charts better if you studied with someone who also needed help concentrating." Obi-Wan frowned at him, discerning an inference but not its destination. "Feemor's padawan, Aola Tarkona, is currently enrolled in a basic astrography course, but is incredibly distractible about it. You could easily help her study for her course whilst honing your, eh, _lacking_ finesse with astronavigation."

" _Elementary_ astrography?" Obi-Wan asked. "How old is she?"

"Eleven standard."

"And a padawan already?" Some residual bitterness mixed in with his tone.

"Yes, and not worthy of your scorn. Her aptitude in the Unifying Force might yet be a refreshing breath for you, and I know Feemor would appreciate the help. Besides, it would give you an excuse to introduce yourself to Qui-Gon's former padawan and also get to know your…" Ben paused, mind running through the unofficial branches of their lineage. "Niece. As it were."

"Hmm," Obi-Wan thought on it. "Your niece, my cousin," He decided. Ben laughed. "It's still weird."

"Yes, on that I can wholeheartedly agree. But not in a bad way."

Obi-Wan in his fifteen years had not yet mastered the concept of _weird_ being divisible from _bad_. Ben grasped at teenaged memories in an attempt to sympathize. "You'll understand when you're older," He said, and only remembered after the words were out of his mouth how patronizing they'd sounded as a young man. But they were _true._

"Very well," Obi-Wan said, picking up his homework once more.

"I'll contact Master Gard and let him know. He knows _of_ you, you know."

"Really?"

"Yes, he recognized my name because he knew yours." Ben smiled at the irony. "Funny how that works."

Obi-Wan seemed uncomfortable at the idea of a previously unknown apprentice knowing about _him_ , but was making an obvious effort to look through – not past – the obstacle. "You think he resents me?" the apprentice asked.

"No, not at all. I think, Obi-Wan, that if we let it," and there was the actual _we_ included, because these were waters uncharted even for Ben. "This could turn into something far better than you or I or Qui-Gon have ever had the luxury of contemplating."

"How do you mean?"

"You remember the light Tahl brought with her whenever she visited you and Qui-Gon?"

Obi-Wan looked down, heart still stained with recent grief. "Yes."

"It's called family. Even we Jedi have it, in our own way. And you're gifted in foresight, I know. What does the Force tell you?"

Obi-Wan did not answer him, so Ben left the apprentice to think on it while he studied. "I'll contact Feemor," he reminded as he left. "I'm sure Aola will be thrilled to have a study partner."

Thrown from his contemplative mood, Obi-Wan frowned in sudden alarm. An eleven year old padawan, with whom he'd been inextricably tied up in the bonds of lineage, suddenly devoted to one-on-one tutoring sessions. What _had_ he just agreed to?

* * *

The duel between Qui-Gon and Ben that night was a spectacle of surprises and incredibly deft saberplay. Qui-Gon encountered the most surprises that evening as he faced Ben's saberform personally for the first time, but Ben also had his fair share. Namely, that he held the advantage. Never before in his life had Ben dueled against Qui-Gon Jinn and had more than a fraction of a chance at victory. The newfound high ground was invigorating. It was also too new to capitalize on.

"Oh, now that's just rude," Ben complained when Qui-Gon landed a scorching hit on his shoulder. "I just got these tabards."

"I wouldn't have pegged you for a man of appearances," Qui-Gon huffed, twirling his saber in absent-minded arcs. Ben knew them for what they were: Qui-Gon was preparing to launch a surprise attack.

"I had to relearn a few things after my apprenticeship."

"Is that so?"

"Yes, my master was always rubbish with those sorts of things. Horrible sense of style. You should see his hair." Ben played along with Qui-Gon's imposed front of flippancy, but quietly put his leading foot forward, his saber at just the right angle to counter Qui-Gon's inevitable fore-hand strike.

"Is there anything your master _did_ teach you?" The dojo was technically in public, so they could only bicker in the third person. Ben smiled cheekily.

"Enough to fill books, yes," he said. "Including how to properly launch a surprise assault and," he gestured to Qui-Gon's stature and sabergrip. "That's not it."

"Damn," Qui-Gon cursed, before launching into an offense anyway. Green and blue whirled in expert arcs around, below, above, beside each other, each blade dancing inches away from its target before being deflected by the other. Even though Ben held the tactical advantage, Qui-Gon was a true master of his form. Ataru had long been popular among those Jedi of shorter stature, taking inspiration from Yoda's immense success in the form. However, in the hands of a giant like Qui-Gon, the fourth form transformed from an acrobatic dance into a nigh unstoppable wall of pure offense. The only thing that kept Ben from an embarrassing defeat was his mastery of Soresu; after all, the only way to hold off an unstoppable offense was with an impenetrable defense.

However, in the end, Ben's own experiences in Ataru and with Qui-Gon in particular allowed him to spot a weakness that the other could not. Launching forward with a rare but precise offensive strike, Ben disarmed his master and landed a retaliatory burn on his right tabard before bringing his blade to hover over Jinn's heaving collarbone. Qui-Gon took it as gracefully as he could.

"A Jedi craves revenge not," the defeated reminded his opponent, brushing off charred bits of fabric from his shoulder.

"And here I would never have pegged you for a man off appearances," Ben said innocently, not moving his blade. Qui-Gon gave him a withering look, but the pretense melted into a smile.

"Solah," he surrendered, and Obi-Wan distinguished his blade with a good-natured grin.

"Well fought," he commended, helping Qui-Gon to his feet. "I admit I've missed a real challenge."

"You fight exceptionally well," Qui-Gon returned compliment for compliment. He glanced around to see that no one was watching them, and asked meaningfully, "Who taught you all that?"

The question took Ben off guard. "I studied by myself, mostly," He admitted. The subject of Qui-Gon's death had already been breached between them, and Ben knew he'd already hinted at his switch to Soresu before. Qui-Gon was smart enough to put two and two together. "I have seen the… fatal weaknesses of Form IV."

Qui-Gon frowned at the heavy tone behind the words. "Is that so?"

Ben nodded, sheepish but grave. "I'm afraid so."

Qui-Gon considered this with his own somber nod. He swallowed. "Teach me."

"What?" Ben burst incredulously. It was the only possible response to such a request coming from one's own teacher.

"Teach me some Soresu," Qui-Gon repeated, taking up his unignited saber once more. "For future reference."

Ben was frozen on the spot. It wasn't a possibility that he could have ever foreseen. Firstly, becoming mentor to his master. Second, teaching his master to bolster his own fighting for sake of past tragedies. Third, for feeling so at home, so right with the prospect.

"Oh. Of course," He said, more easily than he would've thought. "I'll give you some katas to work on." It sounded too much like something said to one's apprentice. "If you'd like," he tacked on to make up for it.

Qui-Gon smiled impishly at Ben's discomfort and bowed to compound the blow. "Of course, Master."

When no 'Kenobi' followed, Ben's face turned bright red and he coughed awkwardly. Qui-Gon laughed at the spectacle.

"Come on, then, prove that you know what you're doing. Where do I start?"


	20. Moments of Peace

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a jumble of disjointed bits and pieces that I'm tossing together last minute. Beginning with the next chapter, I'm going to start skipping significant stretches of time, and that will continue as a pattern for the remainder of this story. The first major part (arc? It's not really an arc, at least it doesn't feel like it) is almost over. I'm hoping the pace will pick up a bit from here, though no promises. I have some general plans for this story, but chapter by chapter I have no definite idea of what is happening until I write it.

"Vokara."

"Master Kenobi."

It was their customary pre-duel salute. It had grown less antagonistic of late, but Ben could still feel his core coil in defense. One could never quite tell with mind healers.

"And what morsel of information is on the menu today?" asked the twi'lek interrogator, pen at the ready.

Ben mulled over his running tally. They'd been playing this game for a little over a month, now, and he'd been trying to find substantive but relatively painless things to tell her. His age, Qui-Gon's death (which was hardly painless, but timely). Unfortunately, though he'd never had to consider it before, the overlap of 'substantive' and 'painless' in his life was astonishingly small.

He'd told her that he'd had a grandpadawan, which had bled into a discussion of the fact that he'd only ever had one padawan, and how that padawan had made him the youngest master in the order. The name 'Anakin' was never mentioned. Vokara did not ask _why_ Obi-Wan had taken on a padawan when he himself was so young, which Ben was grateful for. Still, she had written a rather long note after that conversation.

The following week it had been the fact that he had been one of the inner circle of high councilors in his day. This had surprised Vokara immensely. "A councilor out of Jinn's lineage? He'll be crushed," she'd said. Ben had replied that Qui-Gon did not know, which Vokara laughed about several times, once as Ben was walking out of the door.

Then he'd told her that he'd been proclaimed _the_ master of Soresu in his day, and that Master Drallig had roped him into teaching classes every time he was off active duty. This was partially why he'd had such success as a saber instructor recently – well, before the censure. He'd also told Vokara that he'd beaten Mace Windu in a duel once, which she had a very, very hard time believing.

Unfortunately, as time marched on, the rock and the hard place between which Ben had been lounging were drawing closer and closer together, cracking his wishful thinking that this part would be an easy one to play.

The last week, Ben had admitted that he'd been very close with Mace Windu in his previous life, and that the Master of the Order's friendship was one of the things he missed most. When he added offhand that Mace had taken up the role of mentor following Qui-Gon's death, Vokara had looked very sad. She hadn't said anything about it, but the look in her eyes made Ben feel homesick for the rest of the day.

Now, here he was in her office once more, sitting in silence, mindful of a thousand things that he could tell her and a thousand and one things that he'd rather not.

"Well?" Prompted Vokara, as patient and merciless as ever. When Ben did not immediately respond, she began inspecting her fingernails. At length, when she was satisfied with her own maintenance and tired to watching Ben's furrowed brow, she sighed, re-crossed her legs, and said, "You'll be relieved to hear that Master Pong Krell came in for his last checkup yesterday. His arm is back to health and is no worse off for your… outburst."

Ben's facial expression must've given her the leverage she was fishing for. "You're not relieved," she said. It was not a question. "Not at all. Perhaps we could talk about that, Master Kenobi."

"Our arrangement was that I would tell you one fact about myself per week – interrogation is a violation."

"I never said I could not ask questions, Ben. Only that I would let you go after you had told me one thing about yourself. The only thing you've said to me today is my own name, which I hardly need reminding of as if it were a novelty. I have not violated any part of our agreement. I'm merely trying to help you along." She smirked. "Nice try, though, _councilor._ "

Ben rolled his eyes. The longer he delayed a reply, the faster Vokara's smirk melted away.

"Is it as bad as all that?" She asked, more curiosity than accusation.

"He was a darksider," Ben burst, tactless. Vokara's eyebrows shot up. Tact or no, Ben used the momentum to vomit up the truth before he could think better of it: "He was a brash, violent defector who single handed killed over a thousand men – men _under his command_ \- before he himself was killed."

This time, Vokara was the instigator of silence. After a long while, manicured composure now gone completely, she said: "He fell?"

"Yes."

This in of itself was a blow, but there was more. "Who killed him?"

"His own men. To protect themselves."

A pause. " _His_ men?" the inflection was so familiar to Ben's ears, he couldn't grasp how odd it must've sounded to Vokara. "Did he… did the Jedi fight in a war, Ben?"

Ben had known that it would come up eventually. Now presented with the moment, he felt nothing. It had been so all-encompassing, those horrible years. Now, seeing Vokara's horrified expression, he realized he'd been desensitized to the aberration.

"Yes."

The forty two year chasm between them felt wider than normal.

"…Did _you_ fight in that war?" Asked Vokara very quietly.

The furrow in Ben's brow grew very deep, and though he couldn't see it, his eyes darkened with the sort of sadness no one wants to earn. "Yes."

A very long pause. "Why was there a war?"

He words were soft and caring, but he had played his part, and was no longer bound to suffer her interrogations.

"I have said my piece for the day, Master Che," Said Ben, unaware that he had slipped into his General's mask as he stood. "I have other matters to attend to."

He let himself out and left Vokara alone in her office to grapple with the notion of the first Jedi-led war in over a thousand years. Hesitantly, she finished her notes of the day:

_There was a war. The Jedi fought in it. Ben fought in it; from what he's told me of his position and reputation, I can only assume he was an important leader._

She thought of his eyes, of his gratitude towards her medical expertise, to his smile and the invisible weight of the galaxy on his shoulders.

_It would explain a lot._

* * *

As the Force would have it, Ben ran into Alara Dahn on his flight from the Halls of Healing.

"Master Kenobi!" She flagged him down, titian face split by a bright smile.

Despite himself, Ben found himself grinning back as widely. "Master Dahn," He greeted as she jogged over to him.

"I'm so glad to see you – I've been looking for you for months."

"Really?" Ben was surprised. "Whatever for?"

"To say thank you."

"For dragging you through the nine hels and back?"

She laughed. "For making me stand on my own two feet. I'm going back to Herdessa tomorrow to oversee the settlement programs for the refugee- excuse me, _Herdessan_ twi'lek. They requested me specifically."

"That's wonderful," Ben smiled, unable to express his pride in her accomplishments because he knew he'd call her the wrong name by mistake – mistake or longing.

She glowed, as if sharing this news with him was the highlight of her day. Slowly, she mellowed and shuffled almost sheepishly. "They… they requested you as well, actually. But…"

"I'm not allowed anywhere at present," he finished for her, nodding. She winced.

"I am so sorry, Master Kenobi."

He raised a hand in ownership. "My mistakes are my own, the consequences are the will of the Force." He remembered recent meetings with Vokara, his struggles to study, his rocky progression with his Jedi family tree and finding ways to work through the future. "It is for the best."

"I will send them your greetings," She said.

"Thank you. They'll be lucky to have you – and they know it, it seems." He winked at her, and she had to fight to keep her smile understated. "May the Force be with you, Alara."

"And you as well, Master Kenobi."

They bowed to each other and departed. Ben spent another hour wondering, hoping that he would still get to meet Ahsoka in this life. Moreover, that he would get to see her grown.

However, before that could happen, there was a lot of work to be done.

* * *

_Over the course of a lifetime, be it centuries or decades, teaching and learning become a single entity. By teaching another, a Jedi learns something about themselves, their pupil, and about the Force. In this way, the master and padawan find themselves coexisting not in a hierarchy, but in a symbiotic bond of ignorance and learning. Neither can exist without the other. Each receives from and gives to their counterpart in a balanced cycle upheld by the Force itself. This is not a coincidence; it is the nature of life, of existence, and of the Jedi path._

In his distant youth, Ben would've read passages such as this one with a surly look on his face, unable to believe that Qui-Gon had ever actually learned anything from him beyond the ability to concoct progressively bizarre punishments for showing cheek. But now, plunged a lifetime ahead into some altered reality where _he_ was the master in their relationship, Ben's point of view had shifted drastically. He traced his eyes down the page to finish the passage:

_Therefore, may we always remember our own ignorance in humility, and in boldness approach the Force for wisdom on our path._

He could use a dose of wisdom right about now.

Teaching his own master was the most exhilarating, awkward, and unexpected turn of events in Ben's life. Even taking into consideration the debacle with Ryloth and Anakin and talking with his younger self on a daily basis, the experience of giving instructions – _orders_ – to Qui-Gon Jinn was hands down the most surreal circumstance of his life. It was also, by virtue of _why_ he was teaching Qui-Gon, indescribably hard.

How could he explain the fear and anger that shot through him when he watched Qui-Gon let the borrowed double blade slip through that same weak Ataru guard again and again? How could he withhold the grisly details whilst trying to convey a sense of urgency?

How could he try to teach someone to avoid death when he'd watched them die?

Qui-Gon was not very good at Soresu. He joked about it during their duels, arguing that he was too old to learn new tricks. Maybe it was his spitfire personality, he'd quip. He was too rooted in the moment to wait for a future eventuality. He was too fond of spontaneity to bother about preparing for every eventuality.

Even so, sometimes Ben could see it on his face. Qui-Gon had imagined the unspoken eventuality of Ben's past hundreds of times, now. They did not talk about it. Ben suggested more katas, and saved his sighs for the moments where Qui-Gon wasn't around. He didn't know it, but Qui-Gon did the same.

The Force would provide a solution.

"I did not peg you for a philosopher," Feemor jarred Ben from his thoughts. Alone in a study alcove with an ancient volume of Kei Jimsu's writings propped up against his knees, Ben jumped at the intrusion.

"Force, I didn't know you were still here."

"Only for a few more minutes," Feemor chuckled. "Are you ever _not_ reading, Ben?"

Ben closed his holobook and shrugged nonchalantly. "I spar as well."

"Ah, so I've heard. Is it true you've got Qui-Gon Jinn doing _katas?_ "

Oh, so that was making its rounds around the Temple's water coolers, was it? "I've not _got_ him doing anything; what Master Jinn does in the dojo is his own prerogative."

"And what he does, if my sources are to be believed, is hang on your every word." Feemor stepped into the small room and crossed his arms, a puzzled smile on his face. "In all the years I've known him, Qui-Gon's never listened to anyonethe way he listens to you, you know. He doesn't even listen to master Yoda. He doesn't listen to _anyone._ " Feemor tilted his head slightly, a peculiar glint in his eye that Ben had been seeing more and more often the longer they knew each other. He had yet to decipher what it meant, but it made him feel extremely uncomfortable.

He thought about pointing out that Feemor hadn't known Qui-Gon all that long, if their extended estrangement was anything to go by, but Ben restrained himself. That fault line had been buried too recently for him to go kicking at it for sport. He decided to save face. "If you must know, I beat him in a duel," which was true. "Several times, actually." Also true. "Soresu is very effective against Ataru, and I flatter myself by saying I'm rather good at it."

"Huh," Feemor smiled, recognizing an understatement when he saw it.

"Essentially, he's asked me to teach him to beat me."

"And you agreed?"

Ben shrugged, mimicking the other man's grin. "I've got to have something to do besides read, haven't I?"

"Fair enough. Sparring. Eating too, I hope." Feemor patted his stomach ponderously. "I've actually not had a chance to have dinner yet. Care to join me?"

"Well, I am inordinately busy, as you can see," Ben gestured to his single holobook with a deadpan expression. "But I suppose I can fit it into my schedule." Ben stood and stretched before falling into step with Feemor.

Master Gard was not quite as tall as Qui-Gon, and had too look down slightly to glance at Ben, eyebrows tilted in befuddled amusement. "You're as dry a wit as your nephew, you know."

"Am I?" Ben had always felt that he'd tamed his tongue somewhat as he'd grown older. Or perhaps his age had made him not care.

"Aye. I've been listening to him put up with Aola all day." Feemor laughed at the thought. "The best defense against a child's fickle work ethic is deadpan cynicism, it seems."

Ben laughed with him. "Obi-Wan may yet a master make. How are they getting on?"

"…Shakily. I'm sure when Aola's older they'll have more in common. But eleven and fifteen… they're in different worlds. His patience is a credit to Qui-Gon's teaching."

Ben's shrug was made easy by the fact that Obi-Wan's tribulations were, by a narrow but critical margin, not his problem. "It will build his character," He declared, like the fermented old wit that he was. "And if they become friends one day…" a warm, bittersweet pang of longing for the never-was shot through him. "They'll reminisce on the hardships. As a family should."

"Family?" The word was a taboo within the Order, but in many ways, was just as normative a concept within the Temple walls as without. Feemor smiled. "Fair enough. Obi-Wan seems a bit young to be my bond-brother."

Ben laughed. "Fifteen and forty are different worlds, aren't they?"

"I will have you know that I am thirty-nine and not a day older."

Ben turned and looked with animated disbelief at the streaks of grey spreading around Feemor's receding hairline. "Really?"

Feemor scoffed and shook his head. "Force, Ben, I hope Obi-Wan doesn't turn out as bad as you."

Ben smiled around the cruel irony. "There, my friend, I wholeheartedly agree with you."

* * *

"Ah, Mace, I didn't expect you to be back for another month," Qui-Gon greeted as his old friend took a seat across from him in the refectory. He finished his bite and gestured to the seat where the councilor was already sitting. "Please, make yourself comfortable." Mace rolled his eyes, and Qui-Gon laughed. He continued to eat. "How is Hosnian Prime?"

"Well enough," Mace shrugged, assembling his bites with far more care and etiquette than Qui-Gon. "The summit was as boring as one can expect. There was a senator from Naboo who filibustered for nearly six hours." Qui-Gon grimaced, and Mace shrugged. "He got his point across, at least, made my work easier. I'm as surprised as you to be back so early."

"I'm sure having the Master of the Jedi Order breathing down their necks does help speed things along."

Mace shook his head and changed the subject. "I hear you've been causing a stir in the dojo," he watched Qui-Gon carefully. "Or rather, your new personal saber instructor is."

Qui-Gon sighed. Trust Mace to get the dirt on him within one day of arriving on-planet. "Ben is teaching me – attempting to teach me – Soresu."

Mace was not inclined to the humor of the situation. He cut straight through the novelty to demand: "Why?"

"Because I have weaknesses in that area."

"You've had weaknesses in that area since we were children. Why now? What did he tell you?"

Qui-Gon eyed the man in surprise, feeling annoyed. He knew that Ben was irritated with Mace's suspicion of his every move, but until now he'd never encountered it first hand. "What he tells me is between myself, him, and the Force."

Mace sighed heavily.

"Why does it concern you so?"

"Why _doesn't_ it concern you, Qui-Gon?" Mace asked, voice low and serious. "He is a _time traveller._ The fact that he's here at all is a grave occurrence. Something horrible, something fundamentally _dark_ must've happened for the Force to work in such a way. It is completely unprecedented, and you and Master Yoda and everyone around you is treating it as if he really _was_ just a watchman come back from his post. The fact that he's even here is reason for concern." He stabbed at his meal, etiquette lapsing. "Besides that, the man is a loose canon. He wreaks havoc in the temple and without, and even on censure is managing to make waves. With you." Mace bit into his lunch angrily and shook his head. "He needs to talk to someone eventually. If he was brought here by the Force, he has a duty to fulfill. He cannot keep the entire Order in the dark forever."

"I do not believe he intends to. You know he is speaking with Master Vokara Che."

"Yes," Mace said, unconvinced. "But will it be enough?"

Qui-Gon could say nothing definitive on the matter, so he kept his thoughts to himself and ate in silence while Mace smoldered in a vapaad anger across the table.

By the time they had both finished eating, the councilor had cooled somewhat. "I have not yet given my report to Master Yoda," Mace said, standing. "I should go." As he picked up his dishes, a thought struck.

"You know, Qui-Gon… your designated leave will be up next month." Mace's expression was transformed from before, now soft and almost apologetic. "Do you think you'll be ready to go back out on the field?"

The question caught Qui-Gon by surprise. He took a deep breath and surveyed his own emotions; tempered, latent, but _there_. It was not ideal, but neither was idleness. "Yes," he said eventually.

Mace nodded. "I'll file a placement request in your name."

"Thank you, Mace. May the Force be with you."

"And also with you."

"I'll tell Ben you said hello."

Mace pursed his lips and left without a word.

* * *

"I've just met with Master Chartel to discuss your final exams," Qui-Gon said as he walked in the door, not looking up from his datapad. "She and I agree that you have improved a great deal since…" upon looking up, he found that his living room had one less apprentice in it than he'd assumed. "Obi-Wan?"

Five and a half months of leave must've dulled his mindfulness. He set down his 'pad and went around to the kitchen, and then onto Obi-Wan's bedroom. "Obi-Wan?" He knocked softly on the doorframe. With no response, he opened the door.

He scoffed. "Honestly…" He went into the room, free of its usual occupant, where a pair of muddy boots were lying ontop of the bed covers, which had fallen to the floor. "And here I was ready to commend your efforts," the master scolded the air, shaking his head and snatching up the boots to toss them to the door. For a moment, he wondered if he shouldn't just toss them out all together; the boy was fifteen, and was already getting too long in the leg for his robes. Still, whether the boots would fit a week from now was inconsequential. The apprentice would scrub them and the rest of their house until he grasped the virtue of tidiness.

It would be a long exercise, Qui-Gon grumbled to himself as he picked his way back to the door. For a Jedi sworn from harboring material possessions, Obi-Wan had managed to collect a great deal of clutter. Books, clothes, datapads, practice sabers, remotes, and… was that a holocron?

Qui-Gon picked up the tiny cube in confusion. Only masters were allowed access to holocrons, but he had no memory of ever giving one to his padawan. Surely his memory was not so far gone. Somewhat embarrassed at the need, he opened the device to jog his fifty years of memory.

It was not Qui-Gon's memory that was faulty. In fact, he could've testified to the fact that only once in his fifty years had he ever seen the contents of this particular holocron. He had never, of course, seen the commentary that came afterward. With a swiftness that disguised the oncoming current of anger, Qui-Gon pocketed the cube and left the room, left his apartment.

The advantage of Ben being under censure was that Qui-Gon always knew where he could find him.

* * *

"Ah, Qui-Gon, good afternoon," Ben was on his balcony with his back turned, watering his plants. They had grown large enough to take up almost the entire surface of the small porch. "Come for more katas, or tea?"

"I was looking for my padawan."

"I see," Ben stood, setting aside his watering can to admiring his floral friends. "He's at Feemor's, I believe, helping Aola prepare for her end-of-term examinations."

"I was looking for my padawan," Qui-Gon repeated, voice even, "and I found this." He tossed the holocron at Ben's feet. It clattered to a stop at Ben's left bootheel, and he stooped to retrieve it.

"Ah," He recognized in a patronizingly calm tone.

"You gave it to him."

"Yes."

Qui-Gon grit his teeth against the betrayal. He had half a mind to take up a saber and _show_ Ben a few katas right there. "You have no right," He spat.

Ben remained calm. Careful. Collected. These were things that Qui-Gon had taught him, but that he himself had perfected. "No, I do not. I apologize. It… You must understand, it was a gift given with his best interests at heart – and don't try to tell me I don't have a _very_ intimate grasp of what those are."

This nugget of truth was nothing in the light of Qui-Gon's prerogative of Master. "He is not your apprentice," he shot back.

"No, he's not. He's _me."_

"He is nothing like you," Qui-Gon lied, and regretted it instantly. Ben absorbed the blow as if it were nothing.

"I would hope not. Not in the ways it matters, at least. This is a part of that - believe me, Master Jinn, that right there," He tossed the holocron back to Qui-Gon, who caught it in one massive hand. "That matters a great deal."

The taller man turned the cube between forefinger and thumb, trying to put a muzzle on his outrage. After a ponderous silence, he said, "You know, until today, I'd only ever seen this once before in my entire life."

"Oh?"

"I was an apprentice. Sneaking around in the archives – with Tahl." Ben had to smile at the last comment, knowing that most stories from Qui-Gon's apprenticeship began similarly. "We found an old holocron left at one of the senior archivist's desks. It was a very long, very dry reading. But halfway through, it had this," He raised the cube and glanced up at Ben, eyes stern. "I got in enormous trouble for it. I asked my master about it later that week, and was told in no uncertain terms it was heresy. He made me meditate on the current code – the 'real code', as he called it, for three months for worry of me succumbing to sedition."

Ben couldn't help the unsurprised huff that escaped his lips. "Sounds like him," he grumbled.

Qui-Gon frowned, anger temporarily dispelled by surprise. "You've met him?"

There was no safe way to answer that. "Yes…" as much as Ben disliked the man _and_ the Count, Darth Tyrannus had to have been a far cry from the Master who had raised Qui-Gon Jinn. "…from a certain point of view. Not exactly a lenient fellow."

"No." Qui-Gon set the holocron aside. "But he was right; it _is_ heresy."

"Hardly your first orbit around that particular star," Ben pointed out with a grin. Qui-Gon glared, but said nothing. Ben watched his face, smile fading. "You saw my thoughts on it, of course. Might I ask for yours, Master?"

Qui-Gon sighed. "I agree. In theory, I agree. But I've also seen the harm it can do, Ben, the pain it can cause when carried out without immaculate care. I can't… I can't let Obi-Wan fall victim to that." They both thought of Tahl and their own pains of attachment. They both said nothing.

"As have I," Ben reminded. "I have seen it more than you can ever know – and I do not boast in that." He looked down at the floor, mind turning through the decades of encroaching darkness. "But I have seen a similar pain in the new code, in the orthodoxy. I have seen men and women and children torn apart by it. It nearly killed me, by the end." He looked up to see his master watching him with a sad expression. "I know Obi-Wan better than anyone, Qui-Gon. Believe me, this is important. He'll need it eventually, even if the future changes." He let that sink in. Seeing no immediate resistance, he added in a lighter tone, "and he'll need your support in it, it being heresy. He's a terrible stickler for rules, you know."

Qui-Gon did smile a fraction at that. "Yes, I know." But then, "You should have told me."

"Yes, I should've." Ben meant it. "And I am sorry that I did not. In truth, with everything that has been happening, I forgot he had it."

"When did you give it to him?"

Ben did have the grace to look sheepish. "About two months ago."

Qui-Gon closed his eyes, struggling to release his anger. At length, he asked, "Why do you think he didn't tell me?"

Ben considered it. "Because it is heresy," he said. "And because he broods." Despite the tension, they could both smile at that. "That is why he needs you – because you balance out the worst of him by teaching him wisdoms he'd never be able to see on his own." Qui-Gon was taken off guard by the praise, but Ben's face was earnest. "I don't know if he's ever told you."

The elder regarded the other man and gave a placated nod. "From a certain point of view."

The apology levied the air somewhat, but Qui-Gon's anger and betrayal lingered. "I am sorry for my insubordination, master," Ben felt compelled to say.

"As you should be. But you did not act alone. You said Obi-Wan was at Feemor's apartment?"

"Yes."

"I must go there, then. Excuse me."

"Of course." Ben was tempted to plea leniency for Obi-Wan's sake, but he bit his tongue. This particular misdeed was Obi-Wan's own burden to bear. He winced to think about the coming confrontation, but turned away. A padawan only became a knight after many trials of self and spirit.

"And Ben?" Qui-Gon said at the door, breaking into Ben's thoughts.

"Yes?"

"If you ever advise my apprentice consult heresies behind my back, I…" Qui-Gon stopped and bit back his ire. Eventually, he said in a longsuffering tone, "at least tell me, first."

Ben bowed low. "Yes, master."

Qui-Gon left and Ben went back to watering his plants.

* * *

When Qui-Gon knocked at Feemor's door, the former apprentice answered almost immediately. Before Qui-Gon could open his mouth, Feemor put a finger to his lips. The visitor frowned, eyebrows begging the obvious question, but Feemor only smiled and waved his former master into the room.

The apartment lights were dimmed to half-strength. The living room was covered in datapads and holobooks, some still open and projecting rotating system maps like ethereal blue mobiles. In the middle of the floor, back propped up against the edge of the sofa was Obi-Wan Kenobi, fast asleep. In his lap, head resting on his chest, was Aola. She hugged a holobook to her chest.

Qui-Gon felt some of his anger seep away. He bit back a chuckle upon seeing a line of drool running out of Obi-Wan's mouth.

"They've been studying since lunchtime," Feemor whispered. "Obi-Wan must've been fairly tired – he conked out while Aola was copying sector maps. She followed soon after, and Force help me, I haven't the heart to wake them."

After a moment of admiring the innocent scene, Feemor led his master over to the other side of the apartment where they could talk. "What did you need?"

"I had been looking for Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon admitted, glancing back at his apprentice. Had the boy been awake, he was sure to have gotten an earful. But now, Qui-Gon found the sharp edge of his anger dulled, his senses reminding him that this was _Obi-Wan,_ who had not a disloyal bone in his body, who was young and foolish as he had once been. Absently, he reached into his pocket and fiddled with the small holocron he'd brought as evidence. He left it alone. "I suppose it can wait."

"Would you like some caf?"

"Do you have tea?"

Feemor gave him a withering look. Qui-Gon chuckled. "If I must. Just a small bowl."

As Feemor prepared their drinks, he nodded back toward their apprentices. "He's a credit to you. Aola is a handful on the best of days. Trying to get her to sit in one place and study is a nightmare. He's done well with her."

Qui-Gon's heart warmed to hear it. "Has he?"

"It was a fight from the start, and I don't think he's been enjoying himself. But he made a major breakthrough today, something even I wouldn't have thought of."

"Oh?"

"It turns out," Feemor said through a smile, handing his master a bowl of caf, "the way to get Aola to memorize planetary maps is to help her memorize which horrible creatures live on each of them and make a map of _those."_

Qui-Gon laughed, and Feemor joined him as if he'd been waiting for the opportunity. "That was Obi-Wan's idea?"

"I have the illustrations to prove it."

Qui-Gon laughed again. "He'll make a good teacher one day."

"Mmm, I'd say so. Aola adores him." Feemor glanced back at them; Aola small for her age, curled up almost like a toddler in Obi-Wan's teenaged sprawl. "I wondered if it was even a good idea, the first week, event he second. They argued quite a bit. But…" He turned back around to face Qui-Gon, "They managed to work it out. A month later. I'm glad for the peace."

"Hmm," Qui-Gon nodded, considering againt he holocron in his pocket, Obi-Wan's secrecy. It would not be a pleasant conversation. Neither would the continuing conversations with Mace. Neither would be trying to learn Soresu, or going back out onto the field, or having to buy Obi-Wan new boots. Life was full of unpleasantness. But the Force tempered life with its proper balance. Alongside hardship came moments of utter peace.

A voice, as if from the Force itself, ribbed him with the heresy in his pocket: _Emotion yet peace._ In it, Qui-Gon did not hear heresy. He only heard balance and truth, shining as solid as real as the slumbering apprentice down the hall.

"I look forward to more moments like it," Qui-Gon said at length, mind far off.

"Aye and aye," Feemor agreed, "By will of the Force."

They finished their drinks together and put off he unpleasantness of life for one more evening.


	21. Work to Do

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Deep breath* I finally made it! Now, onto the next bit.

Time passed quickly. Before anyone could count the hours, Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan were taken off leave and slated for a mission. Apparently, it was supposed to be a nice quiet outing, a straightforward diplomatic emissary to-

"No, don't tell me," Ben interrupted Obi-Wan mid-sentence. "I don't remember and I don't want to. This is your life now, not mine."

The apprentice quieted, but frowned slightly at the other Kenobi's words. "It's your life too. Just because it's changing now doesn't mean it didn't happen to you. Right?"

The raw, childish conviction in Obi-Wan's eyes only annoyed Ben so much because the boy was right. "I suppose," he conceded. "But the point still stands; I don't want to spoil anything for you."

Obi-Wan understood; but he couldn't help it if he was curious. "But isn't it all the same in the Force?" He asked in his most sagely voice.

Ben glanced down at him sidelong. "Not in this situation. If all were the same in the Force, why would I be here?"

Obi-Wan didn't miss a beat. "Now that you are here, all that you change is in the Force's control. If you were to tell me anything, it would be the Force's will."

"But it is not the Force's will, and therefore I will not tell you."

"That supposes that the Force's will operates in a linear cause-and-effect way, which your own existence has proven to be an indefensible assumption."

"A single exceptional circumstance does not preclude the legitimacy of well-documented archetype."

Obi-Wan shrugged in that smug way that teenagers adopted around his age; pretending that they knew everything in preparation for their immanent coming of age when they would, doubtless, _actually_ know everything. The fact that Ben could restrain himself from rolling his eyes was a miracle.

"The Force works in mysterious ways, Master," said the omniscient youth.

"Yes, it does," said Ben in a dry, masterly tone, "and your senses are not yet so finely attuned to sense the fullness of its intricacies, _padawan._ Now run along to your master and for Force's sake, wherever you're going, don't talk yourself into disaster."

They reached the landing pad where Qui-Gon was waiting. Obi-Wan gave Ben a last wave and disappeared into the ship. Ben stopped by his master and sighed. "Your apprentice is insufferable."

Qui-Gon looked at him with surprise. "Is that an accusation, or a confession?"

Ben gave him a longsuffering look, wrinkles under his eyes more prominent than usual. Qui-Gon laughed. "What will you do while we are away?" He asked.

"Oh, I'll manage. There's Vokara to interrogate me, and Mace to glare at me, and even young Aola to educate me on galactic fauna. Plenty to keep me occupied." He smiled. "And what of you? It's… been a while." Six months was a long time to be off the field, especially after Tahl.

The weight of the unsaid did not affect Qui-gon's confidence. "The Force will provide a solution," he said, almost as if to convince himself. "I do not feel fit for it, but the Force is a powerful ally."

Ben glanced around the bay to see that no one else was near. "Emotion yet peace?" He submitted experimentally.

Qui-Gon's face relaxed somewhat. He looked uncertain, but nodded. "Yes. Something like that."

Ben smiled, and extended a hand. "May the Force be with you, master," He smiled.

"And also with you, Ben," Qui-Gon surprised him by reaching his free arm around for a brief hug.

"I expect you in the dojo upon your return," Jinn said, competitiveness shining through in his voice. "And this time, I will win."

"If the Force wills it," said Ben in mock humility. Qui-Gon shook his head

"You _are_ insufferable."

They parted with fond laughter.

* * *

Ben did not realize how much of his life had centered around the Jinn/Kenobi team until they were gone. Isolation was a familiar, looming presence, and he struggled to keep it at arm's reach.

He studied, of course. He was not necessarily surprised, but alarmed to find new entries with the names of both Sheev Palpatine and Mace Windu in the newest archived council minutes, and spent about a week reviewing the proceedings of the intergalactic trade summit. Nothing _too_ alarming caught his eye, but everything with Palpatine's name on it was suspect. When he found himself growing too frustrated with this line of inquiry, he sought out documentation of Senator Organa's career, which was proceeding well in the wake of his victories on Herdessa. He had recently been appointed to a seat on the Sentient Rights Coalition, the youngest member in over twenty years.

"Sounds about right," Ben had chuckled upon reading the news. Had he been allowed communications outside of the Temple, he would have sent a note of congratulations.

When he wasn't reading and watching holo news broadcasts, Ben spent a great deal of time with Feemor and Aola.

"No, no, the Nos Monster is from Utaupau!" Aola pointed. How one small twi'lek brain could hold so much information on intergalactic taxonomy was a mystery. Perhaps that was why her lekku were growing so much faster than the rest of her, Ben thought - her brain capacity had to keep up with her unbound energy.

"Of course, how could I forget," Ben said in dry apology, moving the holographic drawing from Tarabba to its sectorial neighbor.

On his lap, Aola leaned forward to pull up another sector so they could begin a new memory game. "You should draw the monsters for this one!" She told him, handing him the black holostylus.

"Oh," He demurred, "no, I don't think that wise. I've never been artistically gifted, I'm afraid. I've been told before that I would only ever succeed as an abstractionist."

Aola giggled. "That's the same as what Obi-Wan said!" She took the stylus and bit her tongue in concentration to draw a fanged, spiked, hissing creature – which of course she drew smiling. "You sound like him sometimes."

"I suppose I must," Ben said after a moment. "We are family, after all."

"Yeah, but not just alike. His voice is all weird, not like yours," the artist said, leaning back to inspect her work.

"How do you mean?"

"Sometimes he sounds like this," Aola explained, affecting a tone-deaf yodel reminiscent of Obi-Wan's cracking puberty voice. Ben guffawed.

"Yes," He said through the laughter, "yes, I suppose he does."

Feemor watched the two of them quietly from the doorway, smiling at their antics. His eyes lingered on Ben in particular, face shaded with an indecipherable curiosity. He turned away and left the two to their studies. He listened to their conversation as he retreated down the hall towards his quarters.

"You should draw this one, Master Kenobi. Please?"

A sigh from Ben. "I will do what I must."

Quiet for a few beats.

"You should draw a drop coming off of its tooth."

"Why?"

"Because it's venomous."

"Oh. Of course it is."

* * *

As ever, Ben managed to cross paths with Yoda often. Once in a while, Mace was there as well.

"Adjusting well, you are," the Grandmaster said one day while Ben was reading in the gardens.

"Well enough," he replied. He glanced at Mace. "Is there something I can do for you?"

"Merely walking, are we. A treat it is to find you." The small master looked up at his former apprentice, who looked none too thrilled for seeing Ben. Yoda smiled and stepped forward. "Reading, are you?"

"Yes," Ben glanced down at his books and shrugged, wondering if he should hide them. "Some old council reports."

"About?" Mace asked, taking a seat on the grass across from Ben. Yoda took his time arranging a comfortable seat.

"Dealings in the senate," Ben replied, intentionally vague.

"You're studying,"

"Yes."

"For what purpose?"

"To learn my terrain."

Mace squinted at the obfuscation, but said nothing more. Beside the two, Yoda sighed contentedly, ignoring the tension between his former apprentice and his adopted apprentice.

"Your plants - how grow they, Master Kenobi?"

"Well, Master," Ben replied, puzzled by the change in topic. "The woosha in particular."

"Hmm," Yoda smiled. "Good that is. And your terrain," He pointed to the holobook in Ben's lap. "Clear it is?"

"Clearer than yesterday, master."

Yoda nodded. "Good this is also. Tells us you are doing well, Master Che does."

"That is _all_ she tells us," Mace interrupted, staring down Ben with a calm but steely air.

"Patience it must take to study such vast expanses," Yoda continued, hands referring to Ben's book while his voice rapped the knuckles of his old padawan.

"I do wonder sometimes if I shouldn't take notes faster," Ben confessed in an apologetic tone, catching Mace's eye. The korun master clenched his jaw.

"Rush too quickly toward a cliff and fall you will," the green master said.

"And if you cannot see where the cliff face ends?" Mace demanded.

"Illuminate the path a single lamp will; follow it with a trusting step you must."

"But is a single lamp really enough, master?" Ben asked. The doubt in his voice gave Mace Windu pause.

"Hmm," Yoda considered the problem while both of his apprentices waited on his word. "When ready for soil and sun a plant is, crack its pot the roots will. But shrivel young leaves too much light will." He let this wisdom sink in before asking again, "your plants - how grow they, Master Kenobi?"

Ben saw through the metaphor and took a long moment to consider. "I often cannot see them growing," he confessed. "But I tend to them as best I can."

"Good. But mindful you must be, hardier new leaves are. Soon ready for sunlight they will be, where they can grow and bear fruit."

That kind of exposure was, of course, the goal, but it was also terrifying. "Yes, Master," Ben said in an admonished tone. Mace watched the exchange in silence, eyes somewhat softer than before.

They listened to the fountains, the leaves, the younglings across the garden. The plants around them grew at a microscopic pace. Yoda smiled.

"A nice day it is. Come. Meditate with me," He gestured to the two grown men as if they were younglings. Obediently, after sharing a brief glance of truce, Ben and Mace tucked up their knees, bowed their heads, and followed the Grandmaster into contemplation.

* * *

It took a full month before Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan returned. Their 'simple diplomatic mission' had turned into a plot straight out of a holo noir: the senator had been embezzling funds, his secretary covered for him because he had dirt on her scandalous sexual liaisons with the Prime Minister's brother (who was married). The day after Obi-Wan had unwittingly uncovered the incriminating ledger, the secretary was found murdered in the senator's office, but after a long investigation, the Jinn/Kenobi team concluded that it was not the senator who was guilty, but

"-his mistress, who'd blackmailed the senator into fraud in the first place," Ben nodded, eyes wide in freshly upturned memory. "I really _had_ forgotten about that one."

"I don't see how," grumbled Obi-Wan, pulling off his boots for the first time in a week, "That cabinet was memorable in the worst of ways. I'll never forget it."

Qui-Gon chuckled, sharing a knowing look with Ben. "Ah, youth," He said, and Ben laughed. Obi-Wan blushed and sulked again out of spite.

"Are you here for long?" Ben asked as they shared dinner.

"No, I'm afraid. The council wants to see us again in a few days."

"Of course." Both Kenobis picked at their food in an identical show of disappointment.

"But I think we might have time for a spar tomorrow," Qui-Gon amended. Ben and Obi-Wan perked up at that, and ate the rest of their dinner without fuss. Neither of them seemed to notice the humor of their similarity, so Qui-Gon kept his smile to himself.

"Qui-Gon's use of Form III seems to be coming along nicely enough, oh master of masters," Feemor found Ben in the dojo showers. The freshly washed master chuckled.

"Well enough. I think he's only trying to beat me, now," Ben said, toweling his hair dry.

Feemor tilted his head curiously. "Wasn't that the plan all along?"

"Oh." Ben paused. "Of course."

"Mmm."

They walked together from the showers to watch Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon finish their duel.

"You know, your use of Ataru is very reminiscent of Master Jinn's," Feemor observed.

"Form IV looks similar in humans."

"I saw you use a bit of Mikashi as well, did I not?"

Ben shrugged noncommittally. "What can I say? I am a jack of all trades."

"And a master of one," Feemor quipped. Neither of them said anything as they watched Qui-Gon execute a Mikashi riposte almost identical to one that Ben had used earlier.

"Who did you say your master was, Ben?" Feemor asked conversationally.

"Master Yoda."

"Really?" Feemor seemed surprised. "I feel like I would have remembered that."

"Not necessarily. I had a… complicated apprenticeship. I'd rather not talk about it, if I'm honest."

"You're telling _me_. But alright," the taller man conceded, though it was obvious he didn't want to. After a thoughtful pause, Feemor said, "You know, Master Yoda's style of Ataru is very different from Master Jinn's – and yours."

"What are you saying?"

"I'm not saying anything," Feemor shrugged. "Merely observing." He glanced between Qui-Gon and Ben with that _look_ in his eye again. Eventually it disappeared and he shrugged. "But I suppose you're right. Ataru just looks similar with humans."

* * *

And of course, amid everything else, every week on the same day at the same hour, Ben found himself sitting in the same chair in Vokara Che's office. He wondered if he wouldn't leave a permanent impression on the cushion.

The months of conversation revealed many facets of Ben's life. Most of them unpleasant. In the sixth month of his censure, he had to confess to her that he'd begun suffering nightmares. She'd asked if he needed a guided meditation to process them, but he'd replied that he only told her as a matter of duty; he had plenty of experience in dealing with night terrors.

She'd made a note about that.

They talked about his time on the council, how he'd been habitually drawn up in senatorial affairs from a young age, how he'd first decided to grow a beard because he looked like a baby without it.

"And what if Obi-Wan gets a similar idea?" Vokara had asked in jest.

"A fair point. Hopefully something will happen to convince him to do otherwise. I'll have to talk to him about that. Although…" He stroked his beard, cheeks dimpling slightly. "I must say at this point in his life he probably couldn't grow a whisker if he tried. And believe me, he's tried." They both laughed over that.

It had been a bright spot in Ben's torrid confessions, and was unfortunately one of the last laughs they would share in Vokara's office before his nine months of mandatory visits were up. They spoke also of his brushes with darksiders, his own temptations. They spoke of the blood on his hands from the war, how when he died, he hadn't seen the Temple in over twenty years. They spoke in vague terms, without names or specifics. Vokara's notebook still grew inches thick.

One particular day, however, trumped all others. It happened a short five weeks before his last meeting. When Ben arrived, Vokara seemed to have an agenda.

"Ben," She said seriously, brows furrowed in worry and something else. "I know you probably have something prepared, but I'd like to ask you something today." She was asking permission to question him, he realized.

"Very well," He allowed, disturbed to see her usual confidence subdued.

She fiddled with her stylus. "Did the Sith really come back?"

Ben froze on the spot. Had she warned him _what_ she wanted to ask him, he would have refused. "Yes," he heard himself whisper.

Vokara blinked rapidly, swallowing stiffly as she jotted down her notes. There was a vast silence as she gathered herself. "You've already told me something today, but I want to ask you something else," she prefaced. Ben grit his teeth, everything in him wanting to leave, everything in him feeling bound to stay for the sake of Vokara's fragile composure. "…did they kill any Jedi?"

Even if he hadn't said anything, the answer would've been obvious on his face. "Yes," he said.

She took her notes with a shaky hand and fiddled again with her stylus. She was going to ask another question, Ben realized. He began to open his mouth, an escape route on his tongue, when she asked: "How many?"

Just before Ben could invoke the rights of their agreement, his ears relayed the contents of her question to his brain. His mouth paused as the rest of him tried to answer the query internally. He could not answer – not even for himself.

His eyebrows twitched. His frown went through several stages: first surprise, then confusion, then a final, sad realization. "You know," He said, looking at the wall like a man lost on a barren moon. He was speaking to Ben Kenobi as much as he was to Vokara. "I've never tried to count them all at once."

Vokara felt her heart crack. He looked to her, mind flung far from their agreement, from their meeting, from his censure. In his eyes, he looked like a lost boy. "I don't even know," He said, helpless. "I… I only know the opposite figure."

"What do you mean?"

"I only know how many Jedi they _didn't_ kill."

Vokara was loathe to ask, so she whispered her question: "how many?"

"Well, there was..." Ben silently ran through the names he'd heard over the years. Shaak Ti. Ferus Olin. Quinlan Vos – Yoda? "Five? No wait, four." Shaak Ti had been killed, he remembered. "Or…" He looked up and saw Vokara's horror painted in shades of blue. "Or maybe… by the end, it was just one." _Just me._ "I hope not. I always hoped not, but I was never sure," he rambled, looking just as lost as before. She watched him in stunned silence. "I'm… I'm still not sure."

Vokara felt as though she should ask another question, but could not find her voice. After a while, they left each other in silence. She began a new sheet of flimsi for her notes. It would be the shortest entry in her booklet.

_Sith killed all. Ben was the last._

She stared at the sheet in silence for a long time. Fighting back tears, she sunk into meditation, sensing the light of every Jedi in the temple. All in all, she counted ten thousand, seven hundred and ninety-two lives shining all around her, strong in the Force, alive. She went back to her desk, added the number to her notes, and wept.

Plumbing the depths of Ben's pains and history was an arduous task only lightened by the reality of the Here and Now. Here was opportunity; here was a second chance. Now was his chance to work toward the balance that they'd never found in the past. Now he was not alone; now he had friends like Vokara to help him.

He shared this insight with her during one of their meetings, and it seemed to solidify a bond that had been forming over their many months together. They were natural enemies; patient and healer, stubborn will against stubborn will. But they were both Jedi, they both knew the truth, and they both looked hopefully to the future. During the last month of their appointments, they spoke for the full hour and then some, about Ben and about the Force, and about the future.

"You realize that next week will be our last meeting," Vokara told him one day, tidying her sizable stack of flimsi sheets.

"Well," Ben said, "I have a rather important week in front of me, don't I?"

* * *

The week was even more important than Ben could have anticipated.

After Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan had resumed their normal lives of continual missions with hardly a week's rest in between, Ben found companionship with Feemor. They ate together, shared drinks together (caf at Feemor's, tea at Ben's). They dueled together, Ben's Soresu continually outshining Feemor's preference for Niman, but often by a thin margin. They spoke of Aola, and the Force, and teaching. They laughed at each other's stories and bonded over their mutual friendship with Qui-Gon.

Near the end of Ben's censure, Feemor had begun to grow quieter in their conversations. He watched Ben more than he spoke, often with a glint in his eye, a question waiting to be asked. Ben hardly even noticed. Feemor had been looking him oddly for months, now, to the point that Ben had stopped paying attention. It was this inattention was what would eventually expose the mystery.

"-and of course we're both disgusting, hair grown out, beards full. A mess. My braid had stuff growing in it. And Qui-Gon's master-"

"Dooku?"

"Oh, you know him? Well, he was the first person we run into as soon as we land."

"Oh _no,"_ Ben smiled at the tale.

"Oh yes," Feemor grinned, "And he looks right over me to Qui-Gon, and looks him up and down, and says," Feemor tipped up his chin and affected a bass Coreworld accent. 'You look like an overgrown, flea-bitten lothcat. Force's sake, Qui-Gon, go bathe'," Ben laughed heartily at the impersonation. Feemor continued, "And then as he's leaving, he goes, 'and cut off all that ridiculous hair'. And I... I've never seen Qui-Gon puff himself up quite like that. He showered, but he didn't shave, and he's kept the same hair ever since. I swear it's only because his master said anything."

Ben's face was split for laughter. "Oh, that sounds _exactly_ like him – I had no idea!"

"Really?" Feemor said through his chuckling, "I imagined you would have been around at the time. When did you two meet?"

"Oh," Ben floundered. "When I was an apprentice. But I was too young then, I imagine."

"Hmm," Feemor said, a bit too bluntly. He shook his head and smiled. "Having Qui-Gon as a master… it's an experience unlike any other."

"Oh, I'm sure," Ben smiled.

"He drinks more tea than water,"

Ben laughed. "Yes,"

"Gets up before dawn. Obsessed with the Living Force to a fault,"

"Oh, finally someone else who sees it," Ben exuded. Feemor laughed. He began watching Ben more intently, even as Ben had his eyes tossed back in memory.

"Talks back to politicians, befriends street beggars and riffraff,"

"Yes and yes,"

"And of course, he never listens to _anything_ the council says,"

Ben giggled. "Truer words were never spoken."

Feemor smiled, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. "I suppose that must run in the family, eh, Obi-Wan?"

"Well it's not _my_ fault that he set a horrible example for-" Ben froze and turned to Feemor in shock. They stared at each other in equal surprise – Ben's face tinged with horror, Feemor's with soft victory.

" _What_ did you call me?"

"Ah," Feemor said, and ducked his head. "See, I didn't expect it to be that easy."

"W-what?" Ben was reeling.

"Your name isn't Ben, is it?"

"I…" Ben shapped his mouth shut to gather himself. "I don't know what you're talking about, of course it is."

"Your name is Obi-Wan Kenobi."

"That's absurd."

"That's why Qui-Gon listens to you. That's why you know so much about him, about Obi-Wan, too. That's why your fighting styles are so similar, why you sound like Obi-Wan sometimes." The glint that had been in Feemor's eyes for months was now a beacon, shining with confirmed suspicion. He bore it with unnerving calm. "That's why when you found out about me, you worked so hard to get us to come to a truce. That's why you've somehow adopted yourself into our lineage – because you _are_ part of the lineage. You are Obi-Wan Kenobi, and you were Qui-Gon's apprentice."

The quickfire accusations left Ben with nothing to say. He struggled to find a defensible cover story. "I," he began stupidly. He'd never been struck so witless in all his life. "What you propose is impossible," He flubbed. "Feemor, Obi-Wan is fifteen years old. I am in my thirties. We're both here at the same time - what do you make of that?"

"Time travel, of course," the man shrugged.

" _What?"_ How, _how, how?!_

"I know it's a fringe theory, but I've a contact over at Coruscant Core University, and he's made some compelling presentations over the years. Admittedly he is a total eccentric, and the science is lightyears away from creating anything practical, but…" Ben could hardly believe his ears. How long had he known? "…the Force works in mysterious ways, does it not?"

Ben couldn't speak. "Um. Well. Yes."

Feemor gave a small smile, watching Ben's expression with a sense of concern. "You alright?"

"I'm… surprised, is all." Ben laughed at the absurdity of it all. "Of all things, I didn't expect anyone to _figure it out_."

"So you admit it, then?"

"I…" he looked up at Feemor, completely vulnerable. "Yes."

Feemor grinned, a new light in his eyes and a smile to match. "Well then," He reached out a hand. "Nice to meet you, little brother."

Ben was too overwhelmed to make a suitably solid memory of the moment. They shook hands. When Obi-Wan was unable to come down from the shock of the confrontation, Feemor put a reassuring hand on his back.

"I'm sorry to startle you. It's not just something you can ask a person, I had to trick you into admitting it."

A long pause while Obi-Wan collected himself. He cleared his throat and asked as calmly as he could, "Did Qui-Gon teach you that?"

Feemor snorted. "He did, actually."

They laughed, Obi-Wan's voice a bit hysterical. His hands were visibly shaking as he ran them over his face.

"Who all knows?" Feemor asked, exuding an apologetic calm

"Um… Qui-Gon. Obi-Wan." He glanced at Feemor. "You, apparently. The Council. Vokara Che."

"That's it?"

"So far."

Feemor nodded. "So… why are you here?"

Obi-Wan let out a laugh. " _That_ is an exceptionally complicated question."

"Aye, I thought it might be," Feemor said, standing. "I went out and bought some of your wretched leaf water so you'd have something to drink while you told me about it. Come on. I'll make us some dinner."

* * *

The rest of the week was a blur. He met with Vokara and told her one last thing about himself: he'd chosen the name Ben when he'd gone into hiding.

"I suppose it's fitting," she'd said. "Not so much has changed." He'd smiled. He never told her that Feemor had figured it all out.

He received a notification that he was expected to appear before the High Council at zero eight-hundred ours in two days time to review his censured status.

The day before his hearing, he woke up to find his woosha plant spilt over his tea table, soil everywhere, fat roots pushing out from shattered bits of pottery. He sighed, gathered it up in a sheet, and carried it to the gardens.

It looked so small and awkward in its new place among the other plants, Ben thought as he packed soil about its base. Would it last? Would it get enough water? Would the sun burn it up?

"Tend to our plants well, we do," Yoda said from over his shoulder. Ben turned to look at the grandmaster. How was he always here?

As if sensing the thought, Yoda chuckled. "Better to grow here in the sun and the breeze than wither away indoors."

"I still don't know if it will survive," Ben admitted.

"It is with the Force, is it not?" The small Jedi began walking away, gimer stick brushing the grass. "Care for its own, the Force does, young Kenobi. Trust it you must."

Ben gave his floral charge one last look of commission. "Yes, Master," he said, and made himself leave the woosha out in the open garden.

* * *

The next morning, Ben rose with the sun, bathed, dressed immaculately and even trimmed his beard. He strode to the Council room with assurance in every step, mind running through every speech he had prepared to defend himself.

When he was let into the chambers, he was surprised to find someone already standing before the council: Vokara Che. She shared a somewhat apologetic look with him and stepped aside so he could stand in the center of the circle.

"Master Ben Kenobi," Mace Windu opened proceedings. "You have been under formal censure by this High Council for these past nine standard months, is that correct?"

"Yes, Master."

"And for those nine months, you have not left the Temple, served in any instructional capacity, or spent any funds not rendered to you for basic living necessities?"

"I have not."

"And for every week in this censure save for two, you met with Master Healer Vokara Che, is that correct?"

"Yes."

"Master Vokara," Yoda took over the discussion, "spoken with Master Kenobi as many times, you have?"

"Yes, masters."

"And analyzed his mental, emotional, spiritual health, you have?"

"Yes, masters."

"About his unusual past you have learned? Determined how it may affect his present?"

Vokara glanced at Ben. "Yes, masters."

"And what can you tell us?" Mace asked. Ben frowned; this was not part of their arrangement. He wondered, suddenly, if the arrangement of confidentiality had been sanctioned by the council.

"I can tell you," Vokara began, head held high in professional assurance, "that I believe he is fit for duty."

A few grumbles about that. Ben wished he could've thanked her for her discretion. "And what of his outbursts? His violation of the Code, his recklessness?" asked Plo Koon.

Vokara took a moment to gather her thoughts. At length, she said, "Having heard a great deal about Ben's past and all that he has been through, masters," She glanced sheepishly at Ben. "We ought to thank the Force that he is not much, much worse."

Not even Mace said anything to that.

A silent round of inquiry ran about the room. Mace looked to Depa, who looked at Adi, who tilted her head toward Shaak, who's lekku pointed at Plo Koon, who shifted his weight toward Ki-Adi, who looked to Yoda. Yoda nodded, and Mace drew a breath.

"Master Kenobi, you are hereby reinstated to active status within this Order. You may leave the Temple and receive a senior allowance. You may also request a mission or a placement as an instructor, though be aware that such placements will be subject to the council's approval."

"I would like to make a request now, if it is convenient."

 _Convenient_ was the not the same as _conventional_. The Master of the Order was not fond of being moved from convention. Mace looked up at Ben with deep chagrin. "Yes?"

"If the Council sees fit to assign me to any mission in the future – which I admit seems an unlikelihood considering my own reprehensible behavior on my last assignment, I would like to humbly submit a request for missions within the Galactic Senate." Most everyone in the room seemed surprised by that – everyone but Yoda.

"Know your terrain well you do," the Grandmaster observed. Ben squared his shoulders and added:

"Specifically with Senator Bail Organa from Alderaan. If possible."

He was surprised to hear some soft muttering at that, but Mace only blinked and said, "Very well. Your request will be duly noted, Master Kenobi." He waited briefly for any forthcoming comments from the rest of the council. There were none.

"Let the record indicate that Ben Kenobi was reinstated from censure on today's date," Mace said. "Master Che, you may go."

After Vokara left, the council members filtered out of the chambers behind her, until only Yoda and Ben remained.

"Growing well in the garden, your plant has been."

"For one day, master," Ben said. Yoda shrugged.

"A day, a year. These measurements matter not. All is one in the Force when its will we follow. Know this you do, Obi-Wan. Come, sit."

Obi-Wan did so, kneeling on the ground in front of Yoda's chair so the two were almost eye-to-eye. "Told much to Master Vokara, you have. Much about the future, about your past, hmm. Tell me,"

"Master Yoda," Ben broke in, "I can't-"

Yoda held up a hand for silence. Ben quieted. "Tell me not of the future, or of the past, or of yourself. Tell me not of what told Vokara you did. Tell me only of what learned you have for the Jedi. What learned you have in here," he poked a claw at Ben's chest.

Ben took a deep breath, sifting the tidal wave of answers that rose in his chest.

"A darkness looms," he told the Grandmaster. "One that we cannot see – one we will not see. Not even you. It will come to us from within."

"Fear," Yoda guessed.

"Yes, master, and more. That is why I am so loathe to speak of it all; why I cannot tell you or the council. I do not want to be the instigator of the very darkness I seek to guard against."

Yoda nodded sagely. "Wise you are. Know well the virtue of caution, you do. But be mindful, Obi-Wan, of the Force. Bring you _and_ your knowledge back here to _hide_ it did not. Share eventually, you must. Be prepared, you must."

"I know, master," Obi-Wan bowed his head. "And with the help of the Force, and of my Jedi family, I will be ready."

A grin creased Yoda's face. He reached out a claw to pat his great-grandpadawan's head. "A wise man you have become. Now. Get up you will. Comm Senator Organa, I must."

Ben's sagely airs disappeared in a puff of surprise. "Bail? Right now?" Yoda grunted as he let himself down from his chair.

"Tried to contact you many times the senator has, requested your help specifically he has. Annoyed that you are not allowed communications while under censure he is, keeps trying anyway. Promising young man. Stubborn." He glanced up at Ben with a parental kind of exasperation. "Familiar it is, annoying. Ready for him to stop pestering me I am."

"Will I go back onto the field then?" Ben asked, eyebrows high. "Will the Council let me work with Senator Organa right away?"

Yoda chuckled mischievously. "So ready you are to join the world of politics," he hummed, eyes light. "So eager, hmm? Good this is. Obi-Wan," Yoda fixed Ben with a deep stare, a stare that had seen hundreds of generations of Jedi come and go. He smiled. "Much work to do, you have."

* * *

" _He figured it out?"_ Obi-Wan hissed over the comm, voice cracking terribly in his surprise. _"How in the nine hels does someone just figure that out?"_

" _Obi-Wan,"_ Qui-Gon scolded.

" _Sorry."_

Ben was smiling widely in his darkened apartment. "I'm still trying to figure that out myself. Feemor is an observant fellow, more so that I'd expected."

" _He is,"_ Said Qui-Gon's baritone voice in pride. " _I am glad he knows."_

"As am I. By the way, Obi-Wan, Aola wanted me to say hello. She has a slew of drawings she wants to show you when you get back."

Obi-Wan chuckled in that insecure sort of way that older siblings sometimes do; they love the younger generation, even if they cannot admit it on principle. _"Alright,"_ he said awkwardly. _"Wait, does she know, too?"_

Ben laughed. "No, Feemor thought it best to keep that our secret. For now, anyway."

" _It's probably for the best,"_ Qui-Gon said. " _You mentioned that the Council might send you on a mission straightaway?"_

"It sounded that way, at least the way Master Yoda told it. I'm to be working with Bail Organa, a young senator from Alderaan."

" _Oh yeah, you mentioned him,"_ Obi-Wan remembered.

"He is a good man – and apparently he's been pestering Master Yoda on my behalf for about four months."

Master and Padawan laughed. _"I'd like to meet this senator,"_ Qui-Gon said.

"I'll have to introduce you one day." A pause. They were nearing the end of the conversation, they all felt it. "I do not know when I will next see either of you." It made him feel far more nervous than he would have expected.

" _We will see each other between missions. It is the way of things."_

"Of course." Of course the would. The prospect of living the life of an active Jedi _and_ having the assurance of seeing Qui-Gon – alive, healthy, _present,_ was a gift he'd never imagined. "Well. Until then, Master, Obi-Wan."

" _May the Force be with you, padawan."_

Ben smiled at how natural it sounded, even with Obi-Wan there. "And also with you – both of you. Until we see each other again."

They clicked off their comms and Ben turned away, picking up the files that Bail had sent him hours ago. The lists were long and wordy, packed with talk of senate meetings, committees, bills, and coalitions. Some of them he recognized. Others he did not. They were all, in their own ways, extremely important. He waited only on approval from the council. Eventually, he decided to go to bed. He'd need his rest.

Tomorrow, the real work began.


	22. A NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR

**A NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR:**

**This fic has become incredibly long. Longer than anything I've ever written, in fact, and has become extremely unwieldy as a result. I fully intend to finish it, but in the interests of making it a bit more navigable, I've decided to split it up into segments.**

**This has been the first arc of the Reprise AU. You'll find the next arc under the imaginatively titled _Reprise II,_ which you can find with the rest of my works. Happy reading!**


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